


M.E. Myself and Sam

by maddersahatter



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 89,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddersahatter/pseuds/maddersahatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the final story of this arc Sam finds himself suffering alarming symptoms. It is the worst of leaps. On the other hand, he has landed in the present: he is in 'real time' with Al. It is the best of leaps. How will Sam rate this leap once it ends? Story 5 of 5</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

This story forms the fifth in a five-story arc (all set pre-Mirror Image) in which the events surrounding the staff at the Project follow on from one story to another. In case you have not read the first four, which can be found at this site - this is what has been happening.

_Previously on Quantum Leap_ …

As Sam continues to Leap through time, Al has some past mistakes of his own to deal with, and the Personnel at the Project undergoes a major change.

The first story,  _Terror Firma_ , has Sam leaping into David Beckett, a computer genius, who helps to foil a designer drug manufacturing setup. Unwittingly, David becomes a marked man as one of the bad guys swears revenge for the (accidental) death of his twin brother.

While Sam helps a young hopeful gain a place on the Olympic Ski team in  _High Hopes_ Al learns that his third ex-wife Ruthie has been seriously injured when an anti-Semitic group blows up the train she is on. Sam persuades Al that he should visit her in hospital, which stirs up more than old memories. Tina is jealous of Ruthie's influence over Al.

In the third story,  _Run for their Lives,_  Sam becomes an Irish Nanny who must save his two charges from a pair of evil kidnappers. Meanwhile, the same faction that bombed Ruthie's train now hijacks Gushie and straps a bomb to his chest. Corporal Ralph 'Rusty' Kincaid diffuses it, but in doing so becomes exposed to the mercury used in the bomb's mechanism. Both men suffer varying degrees of temporary insanity from the mercury poisoning, but in Rusty's case it leads to him attacking Ziggy with an ax. Gushie gives his life to protect her. David Beckett, the leapee from  _Terror Firma_ is brought in to replace Gushie, and give him protection from the vengeful brother. Ziggy resents him and is less than co-operative.

Story Four,  _Snake in the Grass,_ sees Sam forced to unspeakable acts as a member of a teenage Japanese gang in San Francisco. Al remains caught between his feelings for Tina and an awkward relationship with Ruthie. Sammi-Jo discovers that Sam is her father, loses her mother Abigail to a burglar, and relives a horrific nightmare from her college days. Dr Cassandra Koulianos joins the Project Infirmary, bringing a unique skill of her own.


	2. Prologue

_I'm dead._

_That's it, I'm dead._

_I must have died and gone to Heaven._

_Either that or I fainted in the bathroom and hit my head on the sink again, and this is some kind of dream._

_It certainly isn't real._

_For one thing, I have no idea where I am._

_The room is almost empty, but for a bed/table thing in the middle, and the walls are blue, and everywhere is sterile looking._

_Is this the Waiting Room where I get booked into Heaven and collect my Angel Wings?_

_The biggest clue, though, is the pain._

_As in -_ hello _! **There isn't any**!_

_Just moments ago the pain was sooo bad…_

_But now…_

_I feel fine._

_No._

_I feel great!_

_I feel better than I can remember feeling in oh, so many months._

_I feel like running and dancing and…_

_And I do._

_I run round and round the room, faster and faster, until I collapse, breathless, and laugh because I could._

_Within minutes I feel fine again._

_Amazing!_

_So I dance._

_I dance slowly and then I dance fast. I twist and twirl and spin and I giggle and laugh out load._

_This is wonderful!_

" _Woooo-hoooo!" I whoop for joy at the top of my lungs._

_I have so much energy!_

_I turn cartwheel after cartwheel, round the room again._

_WOW, this is sooooooooooo cool!_

_Who'd have thought that being dead could make me feel so_ alive

_Ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh boy, oh boy, oh boyyyyyyyyy!_

_**Meanwhile...**   
_

I'm dead.

I must be.

I've died and gone to Hell after all.

I am bleeding!

The very first thing I am fully aware of as the haze of the leaping process dissipates is that I am bleeding.

And panicking.

Pain. Intense pain.

Blinded by a brightness that threatens to sear my retinas, I screw up my eyes to blot it out.

Pull yourself together, Sam and work out what's going on.

Where am I?

Opening my eyes again, squinting at the brightness of the light, I concentrate on looking at my surroundings. At least I am alone, and can take time to take stock.

I am in a bathroom, sitting on a toilet.

Great! What an inauspicious way to start a Leap!

Alarm floods through me again as I realize that the bleeding I felt is coming from deep within me, and trickling down the bowl.

Oh, my God! What's happening to me?

Could it be that the pain from Jumping Out and Tad's torture has followed me this time? Maybe I _haven't_ been forgiven after all. Is this to be my punishment for falling from grace? To carry the pain from that Leap to the next and on forevermore? Perhaps it is no less than I deserve after all. And yet...

How can I function like this? The pain is so bad - I can barely think, barely breathe.

Fighting to control the urge to hyperventilate, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Think calm thoughts. Think calm thoughts.

It doesn't help much.

Suddenly, I bend forward, clutching my abdomen.

My body is creased up with the most appalling cramps, right down both sides along by my hips, and joining up across the front, low down, and then beyond, penetrating deep inside me.

More than that, I ache all over. Every muscle, every joint hurts, like a really bad case of the flu, only much, oh _so_ much worse.

My head is spinning and I can't think straight.

Oh, God, it **hurts**!

And the blood.

I think I am dying.

I think I wish I were dead.

I think I'm in Hell.

" _Aaaallllllllllll!_ " I shriek in terror, as stinging tears spring unbidden from my eyes.

__


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter One**

With a tremendous effort of will, and a couple of sniffs, Sam managed to pull himself together, though he was still trembling. His friend and lifeline, Al, had not appeared in response to his frantic cry for help, so for the moment at least, he was reliant on himself alone to find ways to cope with his new circumstances. Trying to distract himself from the pain, he studied his situation in more detail.

He was wearing pajamas - powder blue pajamas, decorated with dancing teddy bears, the top all soft and fluffy and cuddly, the trousers brushed cotton, marred by an alarming fresh bloodstain on the crotch. The slippers on his feet were navy, but also had teddy bears on them.

' _I'm betting my new host is not a long distance truck driver!_ ' Sam thought wryly.

The bathroom he was in was small and humble, but clean and homely, with hand-painted dolphins leaping across the tiled walls at intervals, and a design of fish swimming in and out of seaweed on the shower curtain.

There was a single blue towel on the rail to his left, and a single toothbrush in the mug by the sink.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhh!"

A violent cramp doubled him over again, curtailing his examination of his surroundings.

His host was sick, **really** sick. It felt like…like nothing he'd ever felt before. He couldn't remember anything that could cause such agonizing symptoms, but then between the Swiss cheesing of his brain from Leaping and the addling of his thoughts from this strange malady…

' _Poisoning, maybe it's some form of poisoning…'_

Where did **that** thought come from?

It was driven out by the plunging of a knife into his groin - well, a metaphorical one. The pain was so sharp it took his breath away. "Aaiiiiiiieeeeee."

His cry brought attention, but he immediately wished it hadn't as he heard a gruff male voice rise up from below: "Daddy's coming, keep still, I'm coming up to get you! Silly girl, I **told** you not to get out of bed!"

To his befuddled brain, it sounded like a threat.

Sam looked around, his panic rising, wondering if there was somewhere to hide, some way to escape. The bathroom had no window of any description, not even a tiny one, and Sam's analytical mind registered without conscious thought that it was in fact an en suite attachment to a bedroom, rather than a family bathroom. The only way out was through the door, and there was nowhere to conceal himself.

' _Dear Lord_ ,' he thought desperately, ' _I've Leaped into a young girl who's being abused by her own father, or by someone who likes to role-play sick, twisted games. He's got her drugged and helpless, and now he's coming up for another go at her, uh, me!_ ' Sam found himself shaking violently, more terrified than he'd have believed possible.

He seriously doubted he'd be able to fight the pervert off; he was crippled by pain, and feeling so weak he wasn't sure he could even stand.

Nonetheless he had to try.

Pressing his lips together as he endeavored to control the pain, Sam put one hand on the towel rail, and the other on the sink, and pushed in an effort to lever himself up from the toilet.

Gradually, shakily, he rose to his feet, and despite feeling instantly dizzy and faint, he tried to take a step forward. Unfortunately, in his fear, he'd forgotten the pajama trousers around his knees and he tripped, twisting and flailing as he valiantly yet vainly attempted to stop himself from tumbling to the floor.

As he went down, he caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror, getting a glimpse of a pale and petrified girl of about 14 with long auburn hair and freckles.

He was immediately reminded of Keiko.

Sam gasped as images of that poor young girl flashed before his eyes, mingled with bright blinding lights resulting from the irresistible force of his head meeting the immovable object of the sink with a loud clunk.

Lying semi-conscious on the floor, Sam felt that it must be karma. He was to experience first hand exactly what he had put Keiko through.

Oh God! If she had felt anything like the agony he had experienced since he Leaped in… surely she hadn't bled anywhere near as much….

Once more, Sam was filled with self-loathing, and though he'd thought he'd been absolved, and had come to terms with the necessity of what he'd done, he couldn't help believing now that his present situation was truly going to make the punishment fit the crime.

He only wondered why he hadn't Leaped in before the first attack, to spare this latest innocent from the torture she had seemingly undergone.

Sam became aware of a man bending over him, a large man, reaching down to grab him. The Leaper shrank back in terror, suddenly mortified to realize that the pajama trousers were now tangled around his ankles, leaving his bare butt a ripe target for the monster's sick attention.

Sam tried to reach down and pull them up, or to reach out and push the bully off, but his hands were uncoordinated, and his vision blurred.

"Let's get you back into bed," the letch taunted, lifting Sam with ease as if he were no more than a rag doll.

Though he continued to try and fight the man off, Sam's head swam and before he could do anything else, he blacked out.

**QLHQ**

**Wednesday 12th February 2003**

Sammi-Jo and Donna pulled into Dr Elysee's reserved bay in the motor pool and got out of the car in silence. Both felt drained, but Sammi-Jo especially so.

Though the funeral had been yesterday, she still wore black from head to toe. It was as if color had no place in her life right now. Black summed up her mood perfectly. She turned back to the vehicle, and bent to retrieve her hatbox from the back seat.

Donna reached out and gently touched her arm, "Leave it, hon, I'll get someone to help me unload the luggage later. Let's get you back to your quarters for a nice strong cup of coffee, eh?"

Sammi-Jo had neither the energy nor the will to argue; she merely nodded absently and allowed Donna to lead her away from the car, barely registering their ride in the elevator. She found herself sitting on her couch sipping coffee, without the slightest recollection of how she got there, or how it got in her hand. Donna was sitting next to her, by her side as she had been almost constantly for the past few days. Sammi-Jo didn't know how she would have coped with burying her parents without Donna's support and friendship. She didn't know how she would have coped with anything.

"Have I thanked you yet for coming with me?" she asked her stepmother.

"Only about a hundred times!" Donna laughed, giving Sammi-Jo's arm an affectionate squeeze.

"Sorry," Sammi-Jo blushed, staring down into her coffee – black of course. "You must be getting really fed up with me."

"Don't be silly Sammi-Jo; at least you're not taking me for granted!" Donna teased gently. She found the bond between them had deepened rapidly over the past few traumatic days. They were nearer in age than most step-mom/ stepdaughter relationships, by virtue of the fact that Sam had been on a leap when S-J had been conceived (back in 1966 when he was technically not quite 14 years old). So in some ways, Donna felt more like a big sister to Sammi-Jo. Either way, she felt protective of the younger woman she had initially resented.

"A lot of things I _used_ to take for granted have been turned upside down and inside out lately," S-J mused softly. Things like having a father and mother to turn to whenever she felt the need; like knowing who she believed her father to be; like the fact that Sam Beckett was an honorable man who would never do anything so despicable as…

Sammi-Jo shuddered, and took a deep gulp of her coffee.

Donna had a pretty good idea where the young woman's thoughts were taking her, and put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

Donna was glad Sammi-Jo had learned the truth about her parentage at last, though she would have preferred it to be in other circumstances – ideally accompanied by Sam's homecoming. It hadn't been easy to 'act naturally' around her husband's illegitimate love child, for all sorts of reasons.

When she first learned that Sammi-Jo was to be working at the Project, Donna could not possibly have foreseen the day they would become friends. Had colleagues suggested it, she would have laughed in their faces.

Yet now, she would truly be hard pressed to find anyone at the Project to whom she felt closer. Their mutual love for Sam – though one loved him as a husband, the other as a father, coupled with surprisingly many other things they had in common meant that they had an empathic understanding of one another.

Sammi-Jo had shared her deepest, darkest most desperate secret with Donna, who in return felt she could share anything with the young woman.

"You look done-in," Donna observed, noticing the eyes, red-rimmed from much crying, were drooping somewhat. "It's hardly surprising really. How about you take a little nap?"

Sammi-Jo looked at the older woman, at first with gratitude at her understanding of how she felt. Then a thought crept into her brain, and her eyes filled with alarm. She opened her mouth, but somehow the words would not come out.

Donna watched her changing expression, and it didn't take a mind reader to work out what was going through the poor girl's head. She took S-J's coffee cup from her and set it on the low table before them. Then she took both Sammi-Jo's hands in her own, and looked her directly in the eye. Her own expression was filled with compassion.

"I can stay, if you'd like." Donna offered. "There isn't anywhere I need to be anytime soon."

In truth, as much as she could understand the younger woman's fear of being alone – it would take a long time for her to feel confident again now the old memories of her college ordeal had surfaced – Donna's offer was not totally selfless. She was still not comfortable with the idea of spending time alone in the quarters she had once shared with her husband. She now appreciated the dilemma that had forced Sam to treat Keiko that way, but she still wasn't fully reconciled to the reality of what he had done. Looking at their wedding photo beside the bed inevitably led to thoughts of their magical wedding night, and now those blissful recollections were sullied with imaginings of her tender lover abusing a teenage girl. She wanted to get back to the idyllic images she held dear, and the best way to do that was to avoid thinking about that aspect of her marriage at all for the moment.

"Oh, Donna, _would_ you?" Sammi-Jo's relief was palpable, "I mean, I don't want to…"

Donna put a finger to S-J's lips, "Not another word young lady, it's no bother, really."

She lifted her head – it was a totally unnecessary gesture, but one a lot of people instinctively adopted when addressing the Project computer, "Ziggy, if I'm needed at all, I'll be in Sammi-Jo's quarters until further notice."

Ziggy was already aware of this, but did not 'let on' to Dr Elysee.

Ziggy had the ability to monitor every inch of the complex. Normally, staff quarters were not subject to her scrutiny in order to afford the humans privacy, but the Admiral had requested that she 'keep an eye' on Sammi-Jo in case she became distressed and required the services of Dr Beeks urgently. The Project Director seemed genuinely concerned about Dr Fuller, but then, he had always taken a special interest in her.

"Understood, Dr. Elysee." Ziggy acknowledged formally.

**The Leap**

Sam gasped as he came-to - feeling a sharp stinging pain around his right temple. He recoiled instinctively.

"Easy, punkin," a kindly voice advised him, "I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just trying to clean that cut."

Sam still ached all over. He was lying in a bed now, decently attired in clean pajamas and beneath a pale blue sheet and a duvet decorated in leaping dolphins, matching the curtains at the window to his left. He hesitantly raised a leaden arm, and explored his face tentatively with his right hand.

There was a small cut on the edge of his right eyebrow, and he could feel the temple, cheek and eye were all bruised, tender and swollen.

"Yeah, you've got yourself a right shiner there, sweetie," his attendant confirmed.

"Ouff," Sam winced, and accepted the cold damp facecloth that was being applied to his face as he awoke. Gingerly, he touched it to the wounded area. It numbed the throbbing pain a little, so he kept it there, until his arm ached too much to hold it up a moment longer, which didn't take very long at all.

"Here, let me," the kindly voice offered, taking back the cold cloth. "Feeling better?"

"Headache," Sam announced simply.

"Well, what do you expect when you keep head-butting that poor defenseless sink, you silly girl?" The laugh was not unkind, laced with affection.

Nonetheless, the epithet reminded Sam of what had caused his panicked stumble in the first place. He turned his head to try and get a look at the man from his good eye.

"Dad?" Sam enquired nervously.

"What is it, punkin?"

The man was large - Rubeus Hagrid large. He was broad, and obviously tall even though he was seated, and - well frankly he was just **big**. He was as hairy as Hagrid too, though instead of a shaggy black mane, this one was reddish brown, more like a Weasley. Not that Sam could have named the look-alikes for himself, since the Potter phenomenon had not taken off until after he began Leaping, but there was a large reproduction movie poster from " _The Chamber of Secrets"_ on the wall opposite the bed, and both the demi-giant and Ron were there for visual comparison. His host was a big time Harry Potter fan.

Sam wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't just come out and accuse the man of drugging and sexually assaulting his daughter, despite what he'd felt on arrival. Sam wished his wing-man, Al, would turn up and give him something to go on, so he wouldn't have to keep winging it. He was confused. The man who appeared to be the Leapee's father was full of tenderness and concern now, but that didn't mean he was necessarily innocent. Most battered wives attested how contrite and caring their husbands were, _after_ the fact.

Before he could work out how to proceed, a crippling pain in his loins distracted Sam again, exactly like before. He doubled up under the covers and let out a loud moan, crossing his arms and clutching his hips and fighting back tears.

"Arrrrrrrrrrrrhhh! Oh **boy,** that… hurts!" Sam was panting, but it did nothing to ease the agony. "I've never felt _anything_ like this before," he looked at the man sitting by the bed, not sure whether he would find comfort or further suffering at his hands.

"Of course you haven't, Allie," the man told Sam sympathetically, stroking his daughter's hair. "This is your first full blown period; those other times were just spotting."

A light bulb went off in Sam's head. The pain in his loins, the blood, it made sense now. His host, uh, hostess hadn't been raped at all.

"P-period? You mean women suffer _this_ **every** month?" He had no idea it could be so awful. Along with the pain, there was a heavy, dragging feeling, as if a high-powered vacuum was siphoning all his insides out.

"I'm pretty sure not _all_ women get it as bad, sweetie," he was told, which was of scant comfort, "Some suffer worse than others. I should think the M.E. is intensifying the symptoms in your case - poor baby."

Sam recognized the initials M.E. but couldn't seem to recall what the condition was. He guessed it must account for his extreme malaise, the flu-like aching and the difficulty in thinking straight, but he had no idea how or why.

"How l-long is it, uh, gonna hurt like this?" Sam wanted to know, or more accurately _needed_ to know.

"Oh, punkin, I don't know for sure," the father sighed. "Your Mom's bleeds used to last around four to six days, but it only seemed to hurt her for the first few hours. I wish your Mom was here, it should be _her_ talking to you about this sort of thing, not me." The huge man looked as if he were about to break down and cry.

Even with a fogbound brain, and most likely a slight concussion from the blow, Sam could work out that the lady in question was further out of reach than just on a quick trip to the local supermarket. He would bet the farm that they were either divorced, or she had passed away - most likely the latter, judging by the look in the big man's eyes. He didn't appear so tough and terrifying now, he just seemed profoundly sad, and lost. It made Sam feel sad, too, just to look at him. Instinctively, he reached out a hand and placed it on the big hairy hand of his temporary 'father'.

"You miss her a lot, don't you?" he ventured.

"Every day, sweetie, same as you," the gentle giant confessed, patting his daughter's hand. "Everyone says time heals, but I miss my Sheena every bit as much today as I did when she was first taken from us. I can't believe it's been eighteen months."

Sam had guessed right - the mother had died.

"And you've been left to raise a daughter alone all that time," Sam thought aloud, "a sick daughter at that."

The man looked at him strangely, so he finished his thought with what he figured the girl herself might say, "I'm sorry I've been such a burden to you, Dad."

The man leaned over and drew his daughter into a hug, and then stroked her hair, "Oh, Allie, you're not a burden, when have I _ever_ said that?"

"It can't have been easy though," Sam persisted, finding that now his paranoia had been negated, he actually admired and liked the man mountain. "I must've caused you so much heartache." For a second, Sam could almost feel the girl speaking through him.

"Allie, sweetie, how many times do I have to say it? You weren't to blame. I've _never_ blamed you. You're my precious little punkin, and I love you." He stood up, then bent over and kissed her forehead, being careful to avoid the tender bit. "Now, try to get some sleep, you must be exhausted. You haven't strung so many coherent sentences together for days."

Sam did indeed feel totally exhausted, but his arms and legs ached so much, and he was still doubled up by pains in his groin, which had developed into an intense persistent, nagging ache, punctuated at intervals by the addition of sharp stabbing pains. He wasn't at all sure that sleep would come easily.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Two**

**QLHQ**

The Leapee was once more turning cartwheels and doing back-flips when Dr Beeks entered the Waiting Room. Since she hadn't been noticed, the Project psychiatrist simply stood by the door observing for a while, a smile creasing the corners of her mouth and gradually spreading to a broad grin as she watched the dazzling display of exuberant acrobatics.

Eventually, the girl who looked like Sam concluded her routine, with a flourish and a perfect box splits.

Bena couldn't help but applaud enthusiastically.

"That was most impressive," she announced, keeping her voice soft and non-threatening, but letting her genuine admiration come through.

For a second, the girl was startled, and wobbled a bit before regaining both her balance and her composure. She got gracefully to her feet and took a bow, like a consummate professional.

"I'm a bit rusty," the girl apologized shyly, "I haven't done that in the longest time!"

She was barely out of breath, and clearly felt invigorated.

"You're a natural," Bena told her, then, sensing it could be important, she asked casually, "What made you give it up?"

The smile vanished instantly, and the girl sat down cross-legged on the floor, looking down dejectedly, and with her elbows on her knees, she rested her cheeks in her cupped hands.

"This is it, isn't it?" she asked miserably. "This is where you decide what is going to happen to me, and how I answer will decide which way I go?" She looked from the floor to the ceiling and back again.

Bena wasn't sure what she meant, but she had a pretty good idea.

"It _is_ true that what you tell me now could be important to your future," she conceded. "Can you start with your name and age?"

"Isn't that supposed to be name, rank and serial number?" the girl asked, obviously trying to convey a joviality she was far from feeling.

Bena decided to play along. "How long have you been in the military, then?" She looked at the girl with her head on one side, reading every nuance of the body language, insofar as she could when it was wrapped in the aura of a time-traveling scientist.

"I didn't exactly sign up for my battles." The tone could have been bitter, but it was just sad.

Bena approached the girl slowly, and sat opposite her, - crossing her own legs - not so close as to crowd her, but close enough to feel friendly, even conspiratorial.

"Care to tell me about it?" Bena invited gently.

Allie nodded, figuring that she had little choice. If she was going to be condemned to eternal damnation for her faults, better to get it over with now. If not, and she was truly going to be forgiven, or were by some miracle blameless as her father said, then the sooner she got out of this processing chamber and into Heaven proper, the sooner she would see her mother again.

Having given the requested name, age and her address for good measure, she told the pretty lady, who said her name was Bena, as much.

"You think you're dead?" Bena was professional enough not to show her surprise at this. It was not that uncommon for Leapees to think they must have died, finding no other logical explanation for how they got into such a strange room. Most who felt this way were considerably more subdued than Allie had been, though. It tended to have a profoundly sobering effect, rather than causing the 'recently deceased' to turn joyous cartwheels across the floor.

"I must be." Allie stated simplistically, her native accent tinged with Sam's. "How _else_ could I have been cured instantly? It's kind of a relief really, to be free of the pain at last, except I wish I'd gotten to say goodbye to my Dad first." A wistful look crossed her face. "He didn't get to say goodbye to Mum, and I know that makes him sadder." She thought for a moment, tapping her finger on her lip, and then looked Bena directly in the eyes, "Hey, if I pass this test, is there any chance I can have my spirit visit him? Tell him I love him and that I'm better off and he's not to feel bad and all that? That'd be fair dinkum!"

Bena couldn't help but laugh at that. This child had the healthiest attitude to mortality she had ever encountered. She decided to pursue the analogy, figuring that if the girl had a deep dark guilty secret, it could well have some bearing on the Leap, and Sam needed to know as soon as possible.

"What makes you think you might be in danger of uh failing the test?" Bena mimicked Allie's downcast look, nodding at the floor with her chin as if it could at any moment open up and swallow the girl down into an eternity of Hell.

"Well let's see… How about killing my Mum for starters?"

**The Leap**

Al's shimmering image materialized into Sam's world and was surprised to find the Leaper recumbent in bed, looking tired and miserable, and sporting an angry looking black eye. Having been told how active and alert Allie had been in the Waiting Room, he'd been expecting to find Sam full of beans.

"Wow, Sam, what a shiner!" Al's initial instinct was to tease, but then a look almost akin to panic crossed his face. "Wait a minute! You had a black eye just like that before you Leaped outa Kaz." He pointed animatedly with his unlit cigar. "You didn't bring it with you, did you?" Al asked incredulously.

Thus far, Sam had started every Leap with a fresh slate, any and all wounds from the previous one miraculously healed in the interim, which was sometimes only moments, but had often been a week or more, and once had stretched to nearly a month, leaving the Project fearful that Sam would never reappear on Ziggy's radar. However long the gap between Leaps, it had always been enough to make sure that Sam was back in peak condition to tackle the next challenge. Al hoped to God that this state of affairs had not changed, especially given the extent of Sam's injuries at the end of that hellish last Leap. It was inconceivable that his friend could retain that level of handicap and still be expected to achieve a new mission.

Sam hadn't replied to his inquiry, so Al tried again.

"What're you doing in bed, Sam? It's 10am here with you." Al wanted reassurance that what he feared could not be true. He wanted to be told that Sam had just absorbed a typical teenager's love of lying-in.

"I'm feeling a bit crook, Al," Sam replied, and then raised an eyebrow quizzically, as if puzzled by what he had said.

"Who's a crook?" Al countered, almost as confused, not sure he was hearing Sam's words accurately, "You've Leaped into a teenage girl."

"I- I don't know **what** I'm saying," admitted Sam, "I guess I've just had it." Sam frowned, and looked askance at Al as if he felt someone was using him for a ventriloquist's dummy.

"Had _what,_ Sam?" Al queried, looking at his friend as if he had lost his mind, or been given some mind-altering drug. Suddenly, the unthinkable was starting to look positively likely. He began punching questions into his handlink, instructing Ziggy to calculate the odds that Sam could be continuing to suffer the ill effects of the Jumping Out and Tad's cruel torture, and if so, what they could do to help him. "You **can't** still be feeling your injuries from 'Cisco, surely, Sam?"

"Wha-…?" Sam screwed up his eyes and frowned as he tried to process what his friend was babbling about. "Oh – no; not that. I thought so too… at first, but uh..." He broke off, and began shifting about in the bed as if settling in for a long period of hibernation, seemingly having forgotten he had been talking at all, much less what about.

"But what, buddy?" Al's concern was mounting by the second. Sam was totally out of it. Something was seriously wrong. So far, Ziggy had ascertained that Sam had not retained any old wounds, but also said that the Leaper's vital signs were less than reassuring. Beyond that, she did not elaborate, and Al gave the handlink a sharp nudge to 'encourage' her to be more forthcoming. It wasn't working.

Sam was being equally enigmatic.

"Huh?" he managed after a while.

"What's up, Sam?" Al persisted, "Tell me what's going on in that noggin of yours."

"...Sorry, Al, I'm having trouble con… er… concen- uh con _centric_? No, that's not right..." Sam shook his head in an effort to clear it.

"Concentrating?" Al supplied, hazarding an inspired guess.

"Yeah, that too!" returned Sam. He felt lousy, and his grey matter was as fuzzy as L.A. smog. The father had said his daughter was ill, what was it he had called it? Emi-something? No, M.E. He was sure it was M.E.

"Al? I need you to find out all you can about M.E." he instructed his holographic friend.

"Sam, this time I already know a lot about Y.O.U." Al rejoined, jesting despite still feeling the underlying concern that his normally sharp-as-tacks scientific genius buddy was acting like a grade-A dope. He surreptitiously typed the initials into his handlink.

"Your name is Alabama Johnson…"

"I'm in Ala _bama_?" Sam looked around him in surprise, as if expecting that something in the bedroom would confirm his location.

Al sighed. This was going to be hard work.

"No, buddy, you're in Broken Hill, New South Wales…"

"Wales? _Wales_!" Sam looked increasingly perplexed, "As in British Isles? I thought you said I was in Alabama. Make your mind up." He sighed wearily. He was having enough trouble working out what he was saying himself, without having to interpret Al's gibberish. His friend sounded distorted, but he figured it was just his malady that kept him from focusing. Al looked like a third generation video copy too, but that must have been the black eye blurring his vision.

"Never mind, Sam," Al waved his hand dismissively. "Forget _where_ for now. As for _when_ , you are **not** gonna believe this!"

**QLHQ**

_Killing her Mum!?_

This time Bena couldn't altogether mask her shock at this total bombshell of a revelation. Her surprise registered in an enlarging of her pupils, a slight rising of the eyebrows. She recovered her self-control quickly though, and didn't think the girl had seen past her professional façade.

"You just told me you were hoping to, or more accurately _longing_ to see your Mom again in Heaven," Bena said levelly, "now you want me to believe you **murdered** her?"

Verbena Beeks took pride in being an excellent judge of character. It was a useful skill in her profession, and one she felt she had mastered to a high degree. This young girl did not strike her as someone who would – or could - commit matricide.

Allie looked up, startled. There were tears glistening in her eyes, but she was fighting not to let them fall.

"Murder? No! I never said **murder**! That makes it sound like I _wanted_ her to die!" She shook her head vehemently, horrified at the suggestion, "I **loved** my Mum, and I miss her **so** much." The girl got up suddenly and started pacing; her hands were trembling.

Bena got to her own feet, but gave the girl plenty of space. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply…"

"I never _meant_ to hurt my Mum," the girl assured her insistently, "but it was still my fault she died, so technically I killed her."

This made much more sense to Bena, and she could almost have written the script for what she was now to be told, just based on that one statement. The poor child had been carrying a burden of unnecessary guilt, as was quite common when someone survived an accident that took the life of a loved one.

Gently, Dr Beeks led the girl over to the bed in the center of the room and gestured to her to sit down and be comfortable. Bena sat alongside her, but again made sure to keep enough distance that the girl didn't feel crowded or oppressed.

Allie proceeded to tell Dr Beeks how she had been representing her school and her region in the all-state finals of a gymnastics competition eighteen months previously. Given the spectacular nature of the display Bena had witnessed, she was not at all surprised to find out that Allie had won three first place medals – for the floor routine, the beam, and the asymmetric bars. She was the youngest All-State champion ever. It had felt like the most wonderful night of her life, only made less than perfect by the fact that her father had been stuck at work and couldn't be there to witness her triumph.

Predictably, having been flying so high and proud on the wings of her success, the poor child had been in for one heck of a fall.

Driving home afterward, they were part way through their five-hour long journey and making good time since there was little traffic on the roads. Both Allie and her mother were tired but elated, chatting excitedly and rehashing the day's events for the 20th time. Allie was toying with her medals, and anticipating what her father was going to say when he saw them. It had gotten dark as they drove, and he was sure to be home by the time they got there. Her mother had wanted to film the events with the video camera her dad had bought in time for last year's summer holiday. They'd had some great footage of fun on the beach and Allie and her mum having a swimming race and oh such happy days. It made Allie tear up now to tell Bena about it.

"You can stop any time you like," Bena assured her; aware that it must be hard for the girl to bare her soul to a stranger; even if she did think she was talking to an angel. Bena smiled to herself. She'd been taken for many things in her time, but an angel? This was a first.

She handed the girl one of the tissues she always kept in the large pocket of her white lab coat. Allie dabbed at her eyes and smiled weakly in thanks.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather keep talking. It's been a long time since my mind has been this clear - since I've had the energy to hold a proper conversation."

Bena didn't ask her to elaborate on that, but she knew Cassie would pick up on it later. It was usually the opposite story – Leapees complaining of memory loss and confusion. It was rare for anyone in the Waiting Room to have such a high level of recall, and as Al had with Mary McGillicuddy (the Irish nanny Sam had leaped into only a short while ago), Bena now assumed that GFTW wanted it that way for a reason.

"By all means, Allie, I'm a good listener, or so I've been told." Dr Beeks allowed herself a wry grin.

"Of course, we didn't know then it would be the last holiday we'd have together." Allie took up her narrative once more. "Still, at least we have those tapes to look back on," she added wistfully.

"And the competition?" Bena prompted, "You said your mother _wanted_ to film it? What happened, did the battery go flat on her?"

"Oh no, Mum made sure it was fully charged. She was very efficient when it came to things like that." Allie was quick to defend her mother. "The Organizers forbade it. They said it was too distracting to the competitors. I could see how flash bulbs from still cameras would have been, but the modern video cameras aren't even that cumbersome and noisy any more," Allie pouted, "and even two years ago our one was state of the art. It was awesome."

Bena couldn't help wondering what Allie would have made of the technology at their disposal here at the Project. Cutting edge was an understatement.

Not that she would ever be allowed to see any of it, of course. They had learned their lesson with David Beckett. A little knowledge could be a very dangerous thing. Mind you, he _had_ proved to be a wonderful asset now he was on the team.

"I guess it doesn't matter anyway as it turned out." Allie mused, with a sorrowful sigh, "The camera was destroyed, so even if Mum **had** filmed me, Dad would never have gotten to see it."

Allie slapped her hands into her lap in a gesture of frustration. Bena edged very slightly closer.

"I don't remember much about the actual accident," the young girl confessed, "but the events leading up to it are as clear in my mind as if it happened yesterday."

"That's often the case," assured Dr Beeks.

"It wasn't even bush fire _season_ ," declared Allie suddenly and vehemently, jumping to her feet as if to challenge somebody or something for this injustice. She swung round and faced Bena, leaning in toward her in an almost intimidating fashion. "There _shouldn't_ have _been_ a fire there that night." Allie stated categorically. She clenched her fists and pounded them sharply on the bed. "It's not fair!"

Bena made a mental note to try to keep this detail from the boy-scout leaper she was gathering information for. He could do without his own dose of unnecessary guilt over an event he had obviously not been intended to change. She could well imagine Sam beating himself up over the fact that he Leaped in too late to save the mother's life. At least this time he was way too late – eighteen months too late - rather than mere minutes as with Jill Kinmont's accident. Dr Beeks could not begin to fathom what great eternal plan could possibly be served by robbing this young child of her mother, but she had long ago learned to accept that some things were beyond her capacity or need to comprehend. Let her concentrate on the things she _could_ make a positive impact on. She'd do her job, and trust the Almighty to do His.

Bena had instinctively reached out toward the troubled teenager, lightly placing a hand on the tensed muscles of her young yet burdened shoulder. Allie shrugged it off, but not immediately.

"I read the news reports much later. They suggested it was probably started by someone tossing a cigarette end out of their car window without putting it out properly first." Now the tone was undisguised resentfulness, "I guess sometimes it isn't just _your own_ health that smoking damages."

"That'd be funny if it wasn't so horribly true," rejoined Bena. "But I'd say that means the smoker was responsible for what happened, not you. Just because your Mum was driving you home from the competition, doesn't make it your fault you ran into a bush fire."

"You don't understand!" Allie's voice was choked with emotion. She gestured expansively in anger, but it was aimed at herself, not the pretty lady.

"We were headed toward the fire, but it was a way off, so I suggested to Mum that we should detour down a side road," explained Allie, "only the wind changed direction, carrying burning embers which started a new fire. We ended up running right into the heart of the fresh fire, which flared up really fast, and the smoke was so thick we couldn't see more than a short way ahead. We didn't know the road cos it wasn't the way we normally went. Mum slowed right down, but we couldn't stop cos it was hot and the smoke was getting in, and we couldn't see to turn around, and… and…." Allie had gotten breathless, she was trembling and tears were streaming down her face. Bena moved in and drew her into a comforting hug, stroking her back and hair and speaking reassuringly.

After a while, her breathing slowed, though her tears still flowed.

"The last th-thing I remember was hearing my Mum scream, seeing ah a burning tree appear through the smoke falling straight toward the car and throwing my hands up in front of my face," she was acting it out as she spoke, "and then…and then the scream stopped suddenly." Sobs racked the girl's slender frame. Bena led her to the bed once more, and sat close now, letting the child weep into her shoulder. "I overheard someone in the hospital saying that was the moment the tree broke her n-neck." Her voice was barely a whisper. For a long time, Allie wept silently into the kind lady's embrace, overwhelmed by sorrow, and grief. Then gradually those emotions gave way to the guilt once more. She pulled back and looked up at Bena, her eyes almost challenging.

"We **should** have pulled over and sat it out. If we'd stayed on the main road, Mum would still be alive. I _killed_ her," the girl reiterated adamantly.

"No you didn't, honey," Bena assured her, "You made a suggestion, but your Mum was in the driving seat, _she_ made the decision. She wouldn't want you feeling guilty for it, when you were only trying to help."

"I was being selfish," countered Allie, "I didn't want to wait. I was impatient to get home and show Dad my medals."

The girl had been blaming herself for all this time; Bena understood that she was unlikely to forgive herself in an instant. That didn't mean she would give up on Allie though.

"You were what…? Twelve years old?" Allie nodded. "What girl wouldn't have been eager to share her triumph with her father? I bet your Mum was…" Bena stopped herself abruptly. She had been about to say 'dying to see his face when he found out you'd won', but in the circumstances, that would have been about the most tasteless and tactless thing she could possibly have said. "Just as keen to get home and share the good news," she finished, hoping the girl didn't notice her little hiccup.

**The Leap**

Usually, Sam was eager if not desperate for information, demanding to know everything at once – if not sooner.

This time, he was acting as if he couldn't have cared less. Al clouted the hand-link again – partly in hopes of gleaning more information on what ailed Sam, partly out of sheer frustration and worry, and to a lesser degree, out of pure habit.

Yet despite his concern, Al couldn't help but be enthused by the unusual circumstances they found themselves in. He tried to infect Sam with the same fervor, but he felt he was fighting a losing battle.

"Seriously, Sam, this is gonna blow your mind!" Al continued.

"Who… blowing up… mines?" Sam mumbled, barely audible, and even less coherent.

"Pay attention, buddy," exhorted Al, "this is **really** amazing! We're in the same time frame! You're in the present, the now, _our_ time! And what's more – now this is really 'out there', Ziggy's popping capacitors like cheap beads trying to get her gauge circuits round the concept – get this, Sam, because you're in Australia, which is across the world and the dateline and what-not, Oz time is 15 and a half hours AHEAD of Albuquerque, so on the clock; you're technically fifteen and a half hours in the Project's future! What do you say to that, Mr Junior Einstein, eh?" Al was beside himself with excitement contemplating this unique conundrum.

Having Sam both in his present, and in his future, so that they could theoretically get together in the flesh for the first time in years, even if Sam wasn't actually Sam – made Al's mind race at a mile a minute.

"Hey, buddy, maybe you should hop on the first flight home. You could stop in at HQ and work on the retrieval program! What d'ya say?"

"Home?" For the merest instant, there was a gleam in Sam's eye that suggested the word had penetrated the fogginess that had beset his brain. Yet almost before it could register, it had vanished into the haze of confusion that seemed to have enveloped his cerebral cortex.

"Maybe not," muttered Al regretfully, seeing that even if Sam had Leaped within the Project walls, he was in no fit mental state to work on a Sudoku puzzle, let alone the retrieval program.

"You'd best get some sleep, Sam." Al decided. "I'll get Ziggy moving on what you need to do, so you can Leap outa here. She doesn't have a lot to go on, 'cos you're in our time, but she's scouring news reports as fast as they are written and whatever else she can hack into for a lead. Meantime, you might as well rest and get your strength back. You may need it pretty soon."

Al added to himself, ' _I just hope you're ready for it, whatever it is, when it hits. I hope we all are.'_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Three**

**QLHQ**

The holographic image of Broken Hill dissipated, and Sammi-Jo was once more standing in the vast Imaging Chamber she had rarely seen online before. As reality settled around her, she took a moment to close her eyes and take a deep breath before sighing with relief.

"David, you were right, that was _brilliant_!" She raised her arms in the air in a grand gesture, "D-Dr Beckett didn't suspect a thing." It was getting harder to resist the urge to refer to him as Dad in public, but with everything else going on in her life – and his - making that little bombshell common knowledge was not high on her list of priorities.

She turned her attention back to the extra large video screen in the wall next to the door.

"Al, we did it! How did it look from your end?"

"'Almost as good as the real thing. Well done everyone!" Al gave credit where it was due. "Mind you, Sam wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. I'm not so sure we'll get away with it so easily if he gets his faculties back before our next visit."

The screen on Sammi-Jo's monitor split, and David appeared in a box on the left, as he did on Al's corresponding screen aboard Harry's Lear Jet, where the Admiral could see Sammi-Jo on the right, "I'm working on refining the signal, Admiral. Hopefully we can continue to keep one step ahead of Dr Beckett."

Sammi-Jo flicked off her link and stepped out of the Chamber to join David in Control. No sense in draining resources unnecessarily. She gave David Beckett an appreciative pat on the shoulder. "Good work, _'Gushie',_ " she reiterated, using the nickname he'd agreed to use for Weitzman's benefit, and to prevent Sam from remembering the original Gushie's tragic demise which he had somehow witnessed across time.

David grimaced.

"Oh, sorry," Sammi-Jo hastily yet sincerely apologized, realizing she had inadvertently touched the shoulder that Ziggy had burned with a jolt of electricity. Although the wound was officially healed, it was still tender and sensitive to the touch. Sammi-Jo looked at her colleague with equal measures of guilt and sympathy in her expression.

"It's okay," David reassured her, "I'll live." He smiled to show she was forgiven, but it didn't quite mask the flicker of pain still lingering in his eyes. His hand, still somewhat discolored on the palm, was no longer bandaged, and it had been around ten days since he'd needed the sling. He was coping well with the demands of his job, as long as he was careful.

The still relatively new Chief Programmer turned back to his video screen, recently integrated into Ziggy's main console.

"We're transmitting the data you requested to your handlink now, Admiral. We can re-establish the video link anytime you wish to speak with Dr. Beckett again."

"Thanks, David, and keep up the good work. This rig you've set up is certainly just what we needed right now."

"I'm just glad it worked," David rejoined modestly, "I didn't expect to be 'live' testing it quite so soon after installation. I have to confess I was more than a bit nervous when we started."

"What's the power demand with your system, David? Will we be able to sustain a more prolonged link with the Admiral?" Sammi-Jo asked worriedly. If they couldn't relay Al's image via the technology, then she would have to deputize, and reveal herself to her father. That could open up a can of worms she was not yet ready to deal with, not to mention the possibility of stirring up memories for Sam that could detract from his mission, whatever that turned out to be.

"We should be okay, Sammi-Jo," David reassured her, "I'll make sure I monitor it closely and warn you if we're stretching it."

When David had first relayed the Admiral's request for her to activate the holographic chamber, she had initially asked Donna to convey her apologies; she didn't feel up to the challenge. In fact she felt like nothing more than staying curled up in bed and letting the world turn without her until further notice.

Donna had somehow managed to persuade her that moping in her room was not going to make anything better. She had her doubts that anything was ever going to make things better as far as she was concerned, but then she realized that there wasn't anyone else they could get to do it. The Admiral's brainwaves had been factored in, along with Dr Beckett's when the Project was designed. Hers were close enough to the specification by virtue of her lineage.

Getting someone else to go in and make the lock was hit-and-miss for a direct contact – as they had found out when Gushie had substituted for Al during the Leon Stiles leap. It was a tremendous power drain, and woefully unreliable. Trying to get someone else in to activate the chamber and then relay the signal via the video link would have been like trying to send smoke signals in a hurricane.

Now that it was done, she was glad Donna had talked her into it. Sammi Jo was surprised just how much her spirits had been lifted by the task she had been so reluctant to undertake. She had always been fascinated with computers and technology, and now she was working alongside one of the best innovators of their time. David's genius was truly inspiring. There seemed to be no problem he couldn't solve, no area he couldn't improve in efficiency. The Project had certainly benefited hugely from his expertise. The only tragedy was that it had taken Gushie's death to precipitate his appointment.

Sammi-Jo found herself looking forward to stepping into the Imaging Chamber again.

Growing up, she had often found that immersing herself in a good book or a complex mathematical or technical conundrum could help her to forget her own problems. Verbena would probably call it a defense mechanism, but she didn't care – it worked. Already the things she would rather not think about were being submerged into her subconscious, eclipsed by exciting possibilities.

She knew that she couldn't interact directly with Sam; Ziggy had tweaked the system so that Sam couldn't pick up her mesons and neurons, similar to the way the computer had stopped Michael Blake from seeing Al on an earlier leap. It was simply Sammi-Jo's job to make the physical link, holding on to the control panel to keep Sam's focus on the huge screen that projected Al's image to preserve the illusion that the Observer was at the Project as normal.

She only hoped that her father would be in better health by the time they went back. It troubled her to see him so lethargic. She looked across at Dr Elysee and knew that she was thinking much the same thing. It was probably a blessing that the older woman had not seen her husband up close as Sammi-Jo had. She was just starting to learn how heartbreaking it was to know somebody you care about so deeply was suffering, and was far beyond your reach to comfort and help them. What a lonely, frustrating life Donna must lead. Sammi-Jo found herself bestowing a supportive smile upon her stepmother, which was returned in kind.

o0o

Verbena left the Waiting Room confident that Allie was reassured she was not Hell-bound. True, some of the guilt still remained, it would take more than one session to lay that ghost to rest, but the girl was certainly well on the right road.

Dr Beeks couldn't help feeling that at least part of Sam's mission had been to get Allie into this therapy session, and she was glad it had gone so well. She never knew how long she would have with a leapee, which made treating their traumas difficult, but in this case she was convinced that even if she didn't get another chance to talk to Allie, she had made a positive impact on the young girl's life. It felt good, and 'Bena was moved to reflect that Sam must get the same sense of fulfillment from helping all the lives he had impacted upon so positively over the years. She still felt sorry for his exile, but she understood that the job satisfaction was at least some compensation.

There was a lighter spring in 'Bena's step than she had displayed for many a day as she headed to the canteen. Her mood was improved further when she passed Sammi-Jo and Donna in the corridor, emerging from the Control Room and heading, she guessed, back to Sammi-Jo's quarters. Both seemed positively energized, and Sammi-Jo was talking excitedly about the new video conferencing equipment David Beckett had installed, and how well it had worked. The three women exchanged smiles and nods, and went on their way. Dr Beeks sighed with relief that Sammi-Jo was no longer withdrawn to the verge of catatonia.

Exiting the elevator on the canteen level 'Bena's lifted spirits positively soared upon seeing Rusty Kincaid pushing Matt Langley's wheelchair toward her. They had evidently just been for a meal, and now the two Corporals were on their way to the motor pool so that Kincaid could drive Langley into town for his latest physiotherapy session. Matt explained that he was making excellent progress, with Rusty's help and support, and though Rusty blushed deeply to the roots of his ginger hair, he didn't deny his part in the other's recovery, nor take pains to remind them that he was the cause of Matt's condition.

When 'Bena asked after Patti, he even managed a smile, and told her that though a wedding was still only a distant possibility, they were once more a couple, and working things out together.

'Things are really looking up around here,' thought Bena to herself happily praying that the trend continued.

Little did she know what was in store – on both sides of the Leap.

**Broken Hill**

After Al's less than helpful visit, Sam settled down to try and get some sleep. He felt like he **really** needed it. He was totally exhausted, as if he hadn't slept in a week.

Though the father's short-sleeved shirt and shorts had led him to know it was currently summer in Australia, Sam felt chilled to the bone. He huddled under the covers but could not seem to get warm.

"Feeling chilly again punkin?" enquired a voice that startled Sam. For a big man, Allie's father was remarkably light on his feet. Sam had not heard him return.

"Uh-huh," affirmed Sam, with an involuntary shiver.

"I thought you might be," Alan Johnson approached the bed and handed its occupant a cute plush teddy bear. Sam was about to decline the comforter, when he realized it was hot to the touch. "Freshly micro-waved," he was assured.

"Thanks, Dad," acknowledged Sam with a grateful smile. He took hold of the small orangey-brown bear and clutched it to his aching stomach. The warmth soon seeped through to soothe his cramped muscles, bringing some small measure of relief.

"Sleep well, punkin," Alan ordered with a kiss to the forehead, "Love you."

"Love you," Sam responded, more or less automatically, as his visitor withdrew.

Alan smiled to himself as he saw his daughter hug the little bear. How her face had lit up when she saw it that first time – a present from England, picked up on his way back home from visiting his folks back in Alabama. Sheena had refused to let Allie miss school, and had the opening of an exhibition of her latest jewelry range she couldn't abandon, so he'd made the trip alone. Thankfully, his father's tumble had not resulted in life-threatening injuries, and they expected to go back on a family visit as soon as they could afford it. How could they know their plans would be forcibly changed that fateful night such a few short years later!

With a shake of his head, Alan abandoned the sad memories in favor of returning to thoughts of Allie and the teddy. Someone at the airport had one, and on overhearing the premise of the "hotty botty bear" he'd thought it a neat idea. None of her friends would have one - that was for sure. He'd asked where he might get one, and during the hours he had on layover he'd headed out for the store.

He'd said nothing to his daughter at first about the special properties of the toy, with its wheat-germ stuffing and hint of lavender scent. She thought it was just a regular cute cuddly little bear much like the dozen others she had in her room, though she'd loved it all the same.

Then, not too long after, had come a day when she got a tummy ache, as children do – probably from eating too many sweets.

She had cuddled up to her bear, christened Isaiah "because one _eye's higher_ than the other, of course - silly Daddy!" – still the newest and therefore the favorite, and cried and complained that her tummy had a headache. Alan had gently taken the bear from her, promising that he had a surprise that would make her feel better. Despite the discomfort, she had slipped from her bed and followed him to the kitchen, shrieking in horror to her Mummy that her Daddy was killing her beloved Isaiah when she watched helplessly as her Dad slipped him into the microwave and turned the dial. Mum had been in on the secret of course, and had assured her that the bear would survive his ride.

Alan had lifted her up so that she could watch Isaiah turning circles, still smiling his secret little smile, still looking at her through the glass door with lopsided loving eyes, holding his arms out to be hugged. When he had rotated for two minutes at full power as prescribed, Alan had taken him out, and having let the bear cool for a few seconds, he passed him back to his relieved owner. Allie had immediately plonked herself cross-legged on the kitchen floor and cradled Isaiah in her lap, asking earnestly if he were truly unharmed as if she fully expected the toy to reply. The look of revelation on the child's face when her father pointed out a couple of minutes later that she seemed to have forgotten her tummy's headache was a picture he would treasure for a long time. From that day on, Isaiah's magic warmth had been Allie's first line of defense against all ills, and her sole comfort when she first got home from the hospital after…

Alan shook his head again, not wanting to go down that particular memory lane again at the moment. Suffice to say it had been obvious to him that Allie would want Isaiah to soothe away her first severe period pains. True, he'd been heated so often his lavender scent was scarcely discernable any more. That scent had been replaced by a slight scorched smell from the time he'd accidentally been set on too long a cycle. It didn't matter a jot, she loved him, and he made her feel better.

Anything that could manage that – to any degree – was a godsend to Alan Johnson.

o0o

For what felt like hours, Sam shuffled about in the bed trying to get comfortable. His legs ached; his loins ached; he ached in joints and muscles he'd forgotten he owned. He couldn't find a position that didn't make _something_ ache worse.

Striving to relax, Sam thought he remembered knowing some meditation techniques, but the specifics remained tantalizingly out of reach of his once perfect recall. Sooner than he realized, the effort of trying to recollect the details proved too much for his befogged brain, and he slipped into an uneasy slumber.

While he slept, he dreamed disturbing dreams.

At first they were strange unfamiliar nightmares – driving down an unknown road and a blazing fire he couldn't escape, no matter how many times he turned to a new road, and burning trees falling – crashing down toward him, leaving him petrified and confused and in a cold sweat.

Then his troubled brain took to reliving old terrors – an explosion and a brother trapped in the ensuing inferno; another fire, and a young girl, Abigail, barely rescued before…ah Nooo….!

…Fire yet again, in a barn, and an injured shoulder hampering his efforts – twice. The first a long, long time ago, the second, very recently it felt. That had involved young girls too, sisters he'd plucked from the flames. Others had not been so lucky…

Sam shuddered in his sleep, but the nightmares had not finished with him yet.

…Cold this time, so cold he felt his bones would snap. Snow - lots of snow, over and around him. Trapped and freezing to death, trying to claw his way to freedom and warmth…

In his sleep, Sam clutched the teddy bear tighter to him, and basked in its continued radiance.

…An electric chair, and being strapped down, the terrifying certainty that he was about to be fried to a crisp when the handle came down…

…The agony of the electric shock therapy searing through his brain in a stark hospital room, till he lost all sense of self...

…Cowering in the corner of a bedroom while his brother laid into him for… for what? Tom never hit him, he was sure of it; even in the crazy realm of his dreams he was sure - only ever playful hits in normal rough-house games. No, not Tom, Frank. Jimmy's brother Frank was hitting him for trying to rape his wife. Only he wasn't Jimmy, and Connie wasn't Connie, she was Alia, and…

… and suddenly the victim was Keiko, and it was Tad laying into him, beating him to a pulp and leaving him hanging upside down from a wire fence. So much pain - pain he'd caused as well as pain he felt…

…Pain that did not go away when he awoke with a groan.

Sam had no idea how long he had slept, though he felt as if he had not slept at all. It certainly had not been a restful sleep by any means, and he was not in the least refreshed by it. If anything, he felt even more exhausted than before. The teddy bear was still very slightly warm to the touch, so either its powers of retention were amazing, or only a couple of hours had passed - unless of course the father had snuck in and replenished it without his noticing.

A huge part of him craved sleep, and bade him try again to drift into more peaceful slumber. Another part of him feared to surrender once more to the possibility of the nightmares, which had left him panting for breath and perspiring freely.

Looking about the room, Sam saw some bottled water on the nightstand. Rivulets of moisture trickled down the outside of the bottle, as if it had recently been taken from a fridge, and the change in temperature was causing condensation to form. It seemed that the ever-attentive carer had indeed been anticipating Allie's needs again. Sam realized that he was exceedingly thirsty and decided to sit up and have a drink. It might help to calm him down and relax him enough to let him sleep.

It was a simple little thing, something he must have done a thousand times, both as himself in his pre-Leaping lifetime, and as any number of leapees.

Sit up, reach out for the bottle, and have a drink.

Nothing to it! Doesn't even need thinking about, just do it.

So why was it that two minutes later he was still lying down, still parched?

He started thinking about it - telling his body to move to an upright position so that he could quench his thirst.

His body wasn't listening.

It wasn't that he was paralyzed; he could tell that wasn't the problem. There was feeling in his limbs – a feeling he wished _wasn't_ there since they ached abominably - there was an _ability_ to move, but seemingly not willingness. His body felt as if he'd been drugged or anaesthetized. He felt sluggish, as if he were trying to swim through molasses. Even the **though** **t** of moving made him feel exhausted.

It was frustrating, and Sam vowed not to give in to it. He was thirsty, and he was going to get himself a drink, if it took him all night.

Which was starting to feel like a distinct possibility.

In the end, it took him something near to fifteen minutes to get himself propped up on his pillows and strain to pick up the bottle. When he finally unscrewed the lid, lifting the bottle to his mouth felt like lifting the heaviest dumbbell imaginable. It took every ounce of his concentration to get the neck of the bottle to his lips, and not tip the entire contents down his front. A few hard earned gulps and he had to replace the lid hastily before he dropped the bottle.

It was ironic – the bottle had less in it and so should have felt lighter, but with every passing second it seemed to gain a few extra pounds.

Sam didn't know how he managed to summon the strength to return it to the nightstand, but once he had, he collapsed back onto the bed, totally and utterly exhausted as if he'd just clawed his way up Everest on his hands and knees with a llama strapped on his back.

"Geez Sam, you made hard work of that!" Al had taken advantage of an opportunity to hook up with the equipment and check in on Sam, arriving just in time to see him begin his struggle. Feeling even more helpless and frustrated than normal, he had remained quietly in the background so as not to distract the scientist while the Herculean effort was accomplished.

"No… n..r..gy.." mumbled Sam. He hadn't even enough to scold Al for not being more helpful.

"No kidding," rejoined Al, trying to appear upbeat and lift his pal's spirits, though in truth what he had witnessed worried him deeply.

"Assign-ment?" Sam was too tired to talk, too tired to think, but he clutched at his friend's arrival as the herald of some news that would hasten his departure from this nightmare leap. For that, he would force himself to focus.

"I'm afraid Ziggy has nothing yet, buddy." Privately Al thought it was just as well, Sam was in no fit state to change a light bulb, let alone a life. He hoped that the condition would pass and restore his Leaping friend to full fitness before he was called upon to work any miracles, but it seemed unlikely.

"How'th Allie?" Sam was slurring his words like he was two or three over the eight. Had he been out on an all night binge, he could have reasoned that he deserved to feel so rough. Since he hadn't overindulged, however, this physical punishment felt all the harsher.

"Full of vim and vigor and bouncing round like Tigger on a pogo stick by all accounts," Al reassured the leaper, "Seems like you've absorbed all the symptoms of the M.E. and left her completely cured."

"Maybe…I…just… here… give her… break." Sam suggested.

"Oh I doubt that, Sam, it seems a bit…" Al jumped in to contradict, then paused and reconsidered when Sam asked haltingly, "How does…she…stand… it, Al?"

"Kids are often remarkably resilient, even with painful long term conditions." Al offered, though normally Sam could have told _him_ that.

"How long…?"

Al anticipated what Sam was trying to ask; "She's been practically bedridden for almost 18 months now, buddy."

Sam drew in a sharp breath. That seemed like an eternity.

"After… 18 _minutes…_ I was… wishing…dead…" Sam meant it; he was truly feeling that low.

"You'll feel better after a good sleep, Sam," Al told him reassuringly, trying to convince himself as much as his time-traveling companion.

"Hope…so…" mumbled Sam, as he yearned once more for the release of unconsciousness. "Tell… Allie…"

Al waited patiently. Sam would get to the point in his own time.


	6. Al plans a trip

**  
Chapter Four**

**Thursday 13th February 2003**

**Washington D.C**

"I'll be stuck with the Committee for the next couple of hours or so, I suppose," Al told David with a resigned sigh.

He hated these summons to Washington - the tedious rehashing of the facts and figures, the renewed begging for money to keep the Project alive. Weitzman and Co. were increasingly hard to convince, and each time Al's nightmare was that this would be the time they pulled the plug completely, and left Sam stranded back in time alone forever. Al vowed he'd never let that happen while he drew breath, but he dreaded being forced to find a way to reach Sam _without_ Ziggy. He didn't see how it could be done, and he sure as heck didn't want to have to find out.

Added to that, Al hated being away from the Project when Sam was in a Leap. He'd hoped he could fly out and be back from this not-entirely-business trip while Sam remained in limbo, but his friend had Leaped soon after he took off, as unpredictable as ever. Still, at least David's new setup had allowed him to hook up a satellite link from Harry's Lear and patch his laptop and web cam directly into the Imaging Chamber. David was truly an electronic genius, and Sam had not suspected that Al hadn't been at the Project as normal. It was reassuring to think he could check in with the Leaper even while he was away, as long as Sammi-Jo was around to activate the link in the Chamber.

"If there are _any_ problems with Sam on the Leap, let me know **immediately**." Al instructed the new Chief Programmer, or CP as Ziggy had recently nicknamed him. "I don't care if the Committee declare DEFCON 2 on me for walking out, I'll get to the nearest video conference room before you can say "center me on Sam." There's bound to be a bunch of 'em in that place, so we'll be good to go in no time flat."

"Understood, Admiral," David acknowledged, "Sammi-Jo is on standby in case we need to activate the Imaging Chamber again. Ziggy still has no idea what Sam is there to do."

"Keep me posted. Let Tina know if you come up with anything non-urgent," ordered the Project Director. "Oh well, guess I'd better get this over with. Time to perform my signature magic trick – getting blood out of a stone!" Al allowed himself a little chortle as he disconnected the call. That would probably have been a cakewalk compared with persuading the Committee to supplement the budget. The expenditure for the video conferencing had been approved more readily than he dared hope, but that had only been a few months ago. The fact that he was now asking for even more in this fiscal period did not bode well.

Tina gave Al a quick hug "for luck."

She was still sulking with him over the whole Ruthie business, but his suggestion of this romantic trip for Valentine's Day – even if it was piggybacked on the Committee's orders to attend – had served to smooth things over to some degree. She was going to make him work hard before she _fully_ forgave him, and where better than in a cozy hotel room, surrounded by the finest Washington had to offer? Besides, the promise of a wild surprise for Valentine's afternoon intrigued her. She just hoped that the success of the video-conference equipment meant that Sam's leap wouldn't ruin everything. She knew Sam had to come first, she even agreed with that priority, but she was really looking forward to some big time fun, and a whole heap of getting her own way. It promised to be a thrilling adventure.

She'd have thought that by now a smart guy like Al would have worked out that she would eventually forgive him anything, but his insecurity made it so effortless for her to twist him round her little finger, it was positively delicious. Sometimes, she actually looked forward to him screwing up, just so she could play and dangle him and see how far he'd go to get back into her good graces. He never disappointed. Some of her favorite memories were woven around times he'd been 'making it up to her.' Maybe that (well, that and the _incredible_ sex – the man combined the stamina of a teenager with the experience of his age in just the right measure to make the perfect formula for fantastic lovemaking!) was why she loved the philandering old fool so much. He may have been a typical unreliable male, but he was so easy to manipulate, and so eager to please, that she could get him to do almost anything for her. What woman wouldn't find that irresistible?

"I'm gonna go shopping while you're in your stuffy old budget review meeting, honey," she told him, draping her arms around his shoulders, and snuggling up to him seductively. "Don't be too long."

'No, I'd better not,' thought her lover, trying not to let himself be distracted by the blatant display of her ample charms - barely contained in her low-cut, close fitting top - but feeling himself getting a trifle warm nonetheless, 'If I'm not careful, she'll _spend_ more than I get out of Weitzman!'

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then whispered breathily in his ear, "I'm gonna buy something _not_ to wear tonight!"

Al leaned back from the embrace to give her an appreciative leer, and then in true Italian tradition, gave her left buttock a quick grope. Tina gave a little squeal, which could have been a protest, but was more likely one of pleasure. She lowered her arms to encircle his waist, pulling him close again and reveling in the way his body responded to the proximity of her own, and then slid her right hand down to return his gesture, squeezing his gluteus maximus as if testing the ripeness of a piece of fruit and making Al jump back in surprise. Tina giggled with girlish glee, "How do _you_ like it, sailor?" she teased.

Al was disinclined to respond to her query. He merely took her face in both hands and drew her toward him, smothering her taunting, luscious full red lips with a long, firm, passionate kiss that gave a foretaste of what she could look forward to that evening. When he released her and smiled at her wide-eyed, panting, eager visage he knew he had to leave now or he'd never make it to the meeting at all.

"I'm… uh-hem… going to be late," he announced, deliberately looking at his watch in an exaggerated fashion, and then giving her posterior a pat that said: "Run along."

Tina gave a little pout of disappointment, but then raised her hand in a little wave of farewell that became a blown kiss and a wink. "Later" she mouthed - the silent single word holding an ocean of promise.

As he turned to enter the committee room, Al found himself fingering the collar of his dress whites and exhaling at length. Concentrating on money matters was _not_ going to be easy.

**QLHQ**

**Waiting Room**

Cassie was intrigued.

Bena had told her Allie's sad tale, and how she had been literally bouncing with health yet had alluded to a painful long-term condition. Cassie was looking forward to giving the Leapee her standard medical and finding out what the rest of her story was.

When she entered the Waiting Room, Allie was once more doing gymnastics. This time, she was using the single piece of furniture – a sort of long low table that doubled as a bed – almost as if it were a pommel horse.

"I thought that was part of the men's program!" observed Dr Koulianos.

This time, the interruption did not bring the slightest flaw to Allie's performance, though she cut it short to answer her latest visitor.

"I'd prefer asymmetric bars, or a beam, but you work with what you have. It's so refreshing to be able to exercise; I just wanted to make the most of it. Is that allowed?" Allie's face took on an anxious expression, fearing a negative response.

"It's positively encouraged young lady," Cassie assured her, warming to the girl instantly. She was reading something from the Leapee, but as yet it was too vague to define. There was a phantom smell of smoke in the air, and Cassie guessed she was picking up psychic vibes of the fire that Bena had told her Allie's mother died in.

"Good." rejoined the young girl. "By the way, what do you call this outfit? It's not as glamorous as my old leotards, but it's pretty comfortable and supportive for doing my routines."

"They call it a Fermi suit," Cassie informed her, "and I'm glad you approve."

The doctor couldn't help smiling. This Leapee's enthusiasm was infectious.

"Hmmm, they could catch on!" Allie grinned, posing like a model on a catwalk, and then impulsively doing a back flip. "I can't _believe_ I'm so supple after all this time!" she commented incredulously. "How come I'm cured so suddenly? It _is_ cos I'm dead, isn't it?" She believed the pretty lady who had told her she wasn't about to go to Hell, but she could see no way short of death that the miracle could have happened.

Cassie didn't know how much she was allowed to tell Allie about her situation, so she avoided the tricky one, and focused on the question-before-last.

"Cured?" she started with a question of her own, "If you don't mind my asking - were you paralyzed in the accident?" Even as she asked, Cassie knew what the answer would be.

Allie looked at her new visitor; this one pretty too, but auburn haired like herself and wearing a white coat, with her name pinned on the pocket. That, and the fact that she came in carrying a traditional black bag was a dead giveaway (Allie smiled to herself at the pun her thoughts had raised) that the woman was a doctor. So now you had to pass a physical to get into Heaven?

Allie shrugged to herself. Whatever this crazy set-up was all about, she was happy to go with the flow for now. She gave the Doctor permission to examine her while they talked, anticipating before she was asked.

"Not paralyzed, no." Allie began. "They told me I was lucky, that somebody was close behind in another car and pulled me out before I burned to death. I don't remember. Apparently I was knocked out cold. Cold – hah!" The irony of that phrase was not lost on either of them.

Allie had obligingly put herself flat on the bed so that Cassie could conduct her examination. So far, pulse and blood pressure checked out remarkably normal, considering the stress that reliving her ordeal must have been causing the girl.

"I was in a coma for over two weeks," reported the Leapee. "My Dad said he thought he was going to lose me too. The nurses told me he hardly left my side, talking to me, holding my hand, singing to me. It's strange, but I sorta dreamed I could hear him. When I finally woke up, it was like I remembered what he'd been saying to me."

Cassie nodded, putting a thermometer under the girl's tongue, "There have been many studies that suggest the brain does indeed react to external stimuli even when supposedly 'vegetative.' I'd love to go into it a bit more with you later, if you wouldn't mind. It's an area that has always fascinated me."

Allie shrugged, "Sure, whatever," she mumbled around the glass tube. There was a lull in the conversation while Cassie looked at her watch. Once satisfied it had been given long enough, she removed the thermometer, took her reading and then shook it out. She made a note on her chart, and moved on with her examination as Allie resumed her tale.

"They warned Dad that even if I woke up, I was likely to be severely brain damaged. My skull took quite a bashing." Allie instinctively reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. It was thick and long again now, but for a while it had been mostly shaved off, and there were fears that the scars would show through. She was fortunate that she could hide them with skillful brushing. She would have hated to need one of those dreadful wigs she'd seen some poor kids at the hospital wearing after their chemo.

"Your brain seems to be working fine now," Dr Koulianos told her. She wondered if Sam was feeling the synergetic effects of impaired brain function, and made a mental note to check with David on his status as soon as she left.

"It's been clear as a bell since I got here," confirmed Allie, implying that such was not the case pre-Leap. She went on, "but my problems weren't just because of the head trauma, not long term, anyway." The girl started to detail her injuries.

"I had several broken ribs and a collapsed lung too, and some nasty internal bleeding, as well as loads of cuts from the windscreen glass, but all things considered, I reckon I got off lightly at the time. Dad said they had to give me something like 17 units of blood in all."

"I take it there were… complications?" Cassie knew there had to be more to it.

"Initially, I made excellent progress," countered Allie, "it looked like given time I would have been more or less back to full health." She gave a little wistful sigh.

"I think that's why it took so long to work out what was really wrong." There was a hint of annoyance as she said this, which became stronger as she elaborated, "I'd gone home; I was convalescing well. True, I was having nightmares, and being treated for depression – I was, uh, having trouble coming to terms with losing my mum…"

"As well you might," Cassie interjected, pausing in her examination, which was nearly complete, to pat the girl reassuringly on the hand.

"Then I caught the flu, or something; some nasty virus that made me really ill, especially since my lung was still weak and my ribs tender. It was enough to put me back in the hospital, and when my temperature went through the roof Dad was told to expect the worst. Anyway, long story short - that was when I started displaying the real problems, though it seems the original head injury was most likely the initial trigger. They put the aches in my limbs down to prolonged inactivity at first. It was like I never really got over the flu, I ached all over, I felt exhausted all the time, I couldn't think straight most of the time. I'd get dreadful pains in my joints, in my organs, but especially in my back and legs – and no amount of painkillers eased them. All in all I felt wretched."

"Myalgic Encephalomyelitis," Cassie offered her diagnosis confidently.

Allie sat upright on the bed and stared at the doctor incredulously. It must have been that she was an angel that she knew right away.

"I wish **my** doctors had worked it out so fast," sighed the young girl.

"It **is** hard to make a definitive diagnosis with M.E." Cassie felt compelled to point out, "the symptoms are so varied and so vague that they can be attributed to a lot of different conditions."

"Don't I know it?!" Allie shot back. "The tests after tests they put me through, the _months_ of uncertainty." She stood up in frustration.

"The worst was probably the first doctor. He didn't believe that there's any such thing as M.E. and he didn't believe there was _anything_ wrong with me. He said I was faking it all cos I'd gotten used to being the center of attention and I didn't want it to end. That I was lazy and simply making excuses so I could be a permanent invalid and not have to go back to school and have my dad keep waiting on me hand and foot and…" Allie had made herself breathless, and tears were glistening in her eyes. She was trembling.

Cassie took her gently by the shoulders and sat her back down, holding her reassuringly. She could sense a lot of what Allie was telling her, even before she heard it, as if she were seeing it in a flashback on an old TV movie.

"That sort of attitude is the last thing you need," Cassie empathized.

"He **almost** had my _Dad_ doubting me," a short sob escaped the girl. "It was so hard on Dad - I wouldn't have blamed him. He'd lost his wife; almost lost his only child – twice. He'd lost his job cos he had to give up work to nurse me."

"How did you both manage, financially?" Cassie asked as an aside.

"Mum had a huge life insurance policy." Allie explained, "She'd made sure there were policies on all of us. There was enough to cover all my medical bills and a lot of our living expenses, though there aren't many luxuries chez nous."

"I can imagine," Cassie was not just dealing out platitudes. She was getting a vivid mental picture of what life had been like for the girl and her father.

"Dad was a science teacher," Allie went on, "he loved his job. He was at a parent- teacher evening the night of the accident. He's managed to get some private tuition work to bring in some extra money, and I think it helps keep him sane. I'm not easy to look after." She looked downcast, a profound sadness in her eyes.

"Sometimes, I think it would have been better, uh, easier on him if I'd died that night too."

Though she could understand the sentiment, Cassie was horrified at the suggestion, "You mustn't say that! I'm sure your Dad has never once thought that."

"That's exactly what he says," confirmed Allie, "and he's always stood by me and told me he believed me even when nobody else did about my illness. I'd never have got through it without his support and encouragement, and how he nagged at the doctors to get something done. When that first one tried to convince Dad I was just being a spoiled brat, he set out and found another doctor."

"Why do I get the feeling this one wasn't much better?" Cassie wanted to know.

"Because he wasn't," responded Allie simply. "He didn't accuse me of _deliberately_ inventing my symptoms like the first guy; I have to give him that. I wasn't branded as a hypochondriac. He still said there was nothing physically wrong with me though. According to him it was all in my mind. He decided my symptoms were, uh, what's the word…?"

"Psychosomatic?" offered Dr Koulianos.

"Yeah, that's it. He said it was brought on by the trauma of losing my Mum. He came close to convincing **me** he was right. After all, I was just a mixed-up, upset, confused teenager – he was the expert, and the second one to say I wasn't really ill. I got to thinking perhaps it _was_ all my imagination, so I tried to ignore the pain and push myself into doing normal things again."

"Not wise, Allie," Cassie knew the caution was too late, but said it automatically.

"I soon found that out!" agreed the young invalid. "Before long, I was too weak to do the _simplest_ things. I couldn't even get out of bed. I was too fatigued to do anything but sleep, and I couldn't even manage that! And _still_ nobody but Dad believed that anything was really wrong with me. I thought I was going crazy."

"I can imagine," Cassie soothed, "its one thing to have an injury like a broken leg, which is obvious by the cast, or an illness that anyone can recognize, like the measles. Everyone is full of sympathy and understanding. But when there are no clear symptoms, and you don't even really **look** ill to most people, it's easy for experts and family alike to dismiss it as all sorts of other things. I know a lot of Multiple Sclerosis sufferers have gone through the same thing; it is very similar to ME in that –and other – respects. A lot more needs to be done to educate people to these conditions, and the misery that ignorance can cause."

"Amen to that!" Allie responded enthusiastically. "I got a third doctor a few months back, and thank God he was one who believed me, and finally made the diagnosis. He'd attended a lecture four or five years back from a Dr Bell, who had been studying ME and CFS for something like 15 years."

"Yes, they're sometimes considered to be the same thing, I think the jury's still out on whether they are in fact two separate conditions." Dr Koulianos concurred, showing she had more than a passing knowledge of the subject.

"Personally, I couldn't say for sure, but from my point of view, it's **_so_** much more than just Chronic Fatigue that I don't feel CFS goes far enough to describe it."

"Fair point," conceded the Doctor, pondering for a moment. "Doesn't Dr Bell subscribe to the theory that ME sufferers tend towards hypovolemia?"

"Low blood volume? Yeah," Allie confirmed. "Doc Gibson has put me on flourocortisone to increase my blood plasma. It _has_ helped. I was classified as having severe ME, since I was getting only around 1-2 hours of functional activity a day at best, when I'd be feeling maybe 70% of my pre-illness energy level. Now on a **_good_** day I can manage nearly five hours at 50-70%. Still in the severe range - but definitely an improvement, and one I _really_ appreciate I can tell you. I've learned to watch the signs, and not push beyond that, or I'd be totally exhausted for a month."

"I bet." Cassie nodded. "You sound like you know a lot about your illness."

"I've become quite an expert! I have my mum's old laptop. It's a bit basic, but it can handle documents, and let's me surf the net. When I feel up to it, I research and read up on all the latest theories and case studies and so on. I've compiled quite a dossier of urls and notes."

Cassie decided that this could prove useful to Sam, and resolved to pass the information on to Al at the first opportunity. Allie's medical had shown her to be in peak health, and the doctor could only conclude that the debilitating symptoms she'd described had passed to the leaper. Sam was going to need all the help he could get to cope with them.

**Washington**

… _3 hours later…_

Al wasn't quite sure how he'd managed it, but the Project would remain solvent for the rest of the financial year. Now he could turn his thoughts and his attention to more pleasant prospects. As he was driven back to his hotel suite in a taxi, he couldn't help but turn to imagining Tina in the new lingerie she wouldn't be wearing for long. The girl had great taste in 'temptation fashion;' he had to give her that. Not that she couldn't look drop dead gorgeous in anything of course. With a body like that, she could make anything look sexy, from a bin liner to a bag of old cast offs. He had fond memories of seeing her in one of his old shirts and a pair of his boxers, looking unbelievably glamorous.

However, upon finding that Tina was still out on her spending spree, Al's mind began wandering in a totally different direction. He sat in the comfort of a leather armchair, puffing on a cigar and pondering upon the unique opportunity that fate had handed them.

Retrieving from his pocket the handlink he never left home without, and finding it hadn't been updated with anything helpful, Al checked in with David Beckett via mobile phone once again, although he had done so a mere half hour before.

" _Still_ nothing on the mission, Admiral," the Chief Programmer responded to this latest enquiry, a tiny hint of irritation in his voice. Al should know by now that he would be informed the moment there was anything to tell him, and that he – David – could get on with helping Ziggy sift through all available data, such as it was, far quicker if he didn't have to keep stopping to answer pointless questions!

He put the call on speakerphone so he could continue working.

"I've been thinking," Al mused aloud, "this whole business of Sam being both ahead of and beside us in time…"

"That, Admiral, is impossible, as well you know," Ziggy pointed out, in her most superior tone.

"Well anyway, even so," Al pressed on, "I was thinking that if I got Harry to keep flying East, instead of heading back West, I could nip 'down under' as they say, and pay Sam a surprise visit. What d'ya say? Wouldn't it be a kick in the butt to go up to him and shake him by the hand, and see his face when it didn't pass right on through? Heck, to give the poor schmuck a great big hug! Think of it, I could help him out on the Leap in the flesh, like I've wanted to so many times before. It sure looks like he could use it on this one; he's practically out for the count."

"I cannot begin to tell you how many things are wrong with your proposal Admiral," Ziggy's know-it-all manner was really starting to irk the Project Director.

"Awww, c'mon Zig, it sure sounds like a plan to me!" Al was trying not to let her negativity dampen his enthusiasm, but it was hard.

"I'm afraid Ziggy may be right," put in David, "It is not as straightforward as it sounds."

"What's so darn complicated about it?" Al wanted to know. He saw what he wanted, and it seemed like it was in reach. He didn't want to be told that he couldn't have it, and he began to feel like a child being told he couldn't have ice cream because he wouldn't eat all his dinner. He started feeling as petulant and resentful as that child too.

"For a start, Admiral, the flight would take over 22 hours!" David pointed out.

"But flying Eastwards across the dateline, I'd **gain** a whole day!" countered Al, impulsively, with a 'but Mom' tone to his voice. He didn't want to give in, and was throwing out arguments off the top of his head.

"That is not the case.' countered Ziggy, "Traveling Eastward would not involve crossing the dateline, since it does not lie between your current location (nor ours) and Dr Beckett's. I believe the appropriate analogy would be 'Do not pass Go, Do not collect $200!' Besides, the strain of maintaining communications over such vast distances and time while you were in transit is too great a risk for the potential reward. If Dr Beckett needs you during that time, and the video link is severed through lack of power, you risk abandoning him at a crucial moment in the leap."

Al hadn't thought of that one. He would never knowingly desert Sam in his hour of need. He would not be so easily robbed of his prize though. "What about if I were to hop to London on Concorde?" Al suggested eagerly, "That only takes a couple of hours; it must shave a shed load off the journey time."

After a mere nano-second in which she checked all available flight data, Ziggy responded, "Unfortunately, although you are correct in your assumption that Concorde would be the fastest way to traverse the ocean stage of the voyage, a connecting flight from London to Broken Hill would still take an additional 21 hours. It would in effect make your journey slower." The hybrid computer no longer sounded smug. She had reached the conclusion that a real flesh and blood visit from the Admiral may be beneficial to her creator's spirits, and now regretted that it was impractical, an impossibility.

"Damn!" cursed the Admiral roundly. "It would'a been so neat to burst in and surprise him!"

"With all due respect, Al, just how would you have explained to Mr. Johnson why a retired American Rear Admiral had flown half way around the world to embrace his 14 year old daughter?" Donna put in. "The phrase 'filthy old pervert' would be likely to verbally assault your ears as his fist physically assaulted your face. He's a huge man, Al; he'd have decked you for sure!"

David couldn't help but laugh at the picture she painted.

Al had to admit to himself that it was not an everyday sight, and liable to cause all sorts of misunderstandings. He was no coward, but the wrath of an outraged father, especially one who was probably double his size or more, was not something to incur lightly. Outwardly, he huffed at the insult, and stated firmly, "I'm sure I could have come up with something plausible."

David could see that Al was not taking rejection lying down, "Wow, the Admiral is so determined I reckon he'd commandeer _Airforce One_ itself if he thought it would get him there any faster!" he commented.

"Don't you mean hijack?" corrected Ziggy.

"NO, Al would never do anything illegal. Commandeering vehicles in National emergencies is perfectly permissible to the military." Donna clarified.

"Does Al wanting to be there for Sam constitute a National emergency?" David asked innocently.

"It does to Al!" Donna chuckled.

Al sighed. Far from being amused at their banter he was feeling miserable and defeated. Then he squared his shoulders in determination and instructed the parallel hybrid computer to "look into **every** possible scenario. If there is any way, _any_ way at all that I can get to hook up with Sam for real - even if he does look like a teenage girl - I wanna hear about it at once and I want all the stops pulled to make it happen. Capiche?"


	7. Valentine's surprise

 

**Chapter Five**

**Friday February 14th 2003**

**Washington D.C**

Normally, having finished with the Committee, Al would have rushed post haste back to QLHQ, either in anticipation of an imminent Leap, or as now, because Sam had already begun a new mission.

Three things kept the Project Director and Observer in Washington this time.

First, there was the success of David's integrated video link, which enabled Al to keep in touch with Sam via the holography of the Imaging Chamber - patched into the technology of the conferencing kit - with only minimal loss of quality of signal. It was not an option to be used too often - the power drain and the cost were too prohibitive for it to be habitual, and it was somewhat restricting in terms of interaction - but it gave the Admiral the freedom to cut loose from New Mexico once in a while, and Al was sure as heck going to make the most of it.

This led to the second factor. While Sam had been safely in limbo, Al had recklessly promised Tina a romantic holiday in Washington and a wild Valentine's surprise. He had it all arranged, and he wanted desperately for it to go ahead, not least because the outrageous expense of the gesture was non-refundable. Not to mention the fact that it was likely to put the whole Ruthie-envy issue to rest for good, and get him some great make-up sex into the bargain. His love life needed this break, and he was darned if he was going to be denied it.

Finally, he was still nurturing the desire to join Sam in Australia for real. While even the tiniest shred of hope remained that this may somehow be achievable - however remote - he would cling to it as a drowning man clutches at straws. Being in Washington put him somewhere approaching a couple of thousand miles and that all-important two hours closer to where he wanted to be. He was not about to surrender that 'head start' unless it was absolutely essential for him to go back.

So here he was.

Here they were.

Al found himself feeling nervous.

Initially, he had been sure that this was going to be exactly what Tina would love most in the world, but now he was having doubts. What if she hated the idea?

When Tina had finally returned from her shopping spree the previous evening, she had treated him to a private fashion show of all her purchases. She paraded up and down the suite in a series of increasingly revealing outfits, until the meal room service had sent up was left forgotten, and they adjourned to the bedroom. Tina had teased and taunted and made outrageous demands, but the night had ultimately been a memorable one for all the right reasons, and the morning had brought an encore he would relish for a long time.

Now, the lady in question was getting impatient. It was mid-morning and she hadn't had her special present yet. An extravagant card, three foot tall, with a lovely romantic message – yes. A dozen bunches of long stemmed red roses delivered along with breakfast in bed – yes. Other years, she may have thought that was the extent of Al's gesture, but he could have done that back at HQ. He had promised something 'wild', and she was expecting more. Waiting was not one of Tina's greatest talents. She asked him for the hundredth time when she was going to get her surprise.

"Be patient, honey, I promise it'll be worth the wait," Al assured her, hoping she felt that way when she found out what he had in store. They were still lounging in their hotel room, still in their bathrobes. Tina was sitting on his lap in the huge leather armchair, toying with his hair and nibbling on his earlobe as she tried to wheedle a hint about the surprise out of her tight-lipped lover…

…Meanwhile, Sam's mission was still a mystery. He'd gone for hours without anything remotely eventful happening. Ziggy was monitoring news, weather and any other reports she could access for minute-by-minute updates of anything and everything that was going on in or around the Broken Hill area.

So far, there was no clue as to anything that would warrant Sam to leap in. They had concluded that until something definite turned up, they would proceed on the assumption that Sam _was_ simply there to give Allie a respite from her awful symptoms, a chance to be a normal active teenager for a while. Sam had made it clear that Allie was to be allowed to take full advantage of her remission. Bena or someone else suitable was to take her out of the Waiting Room and let her go wherever she wanted and do whatever she liked – within reason and security restrictions - so long as she understood that she would ultimately have to return on demand when the circumstances dictated she must leap back into her own life.

Al was not altogether happy with this arrangement. They were already operating on complete unknowns – they didn't know the what or when or how or why of the leap's mission objective – and having Allie off gallivanting somewhere when Sam may need to leap at a moment's notice was a complication the Admiral thought they could well do without. Of course, Al had the added worry of not being on hand to keep things under control, but he hadn't let his pal get wind of that. Sam had been adamant though, and seeing how debilitating the condition was to his friend, Al conceded that the girl deserved to make the most of the opportunity fate had given her.

Al kept telling himself there was nothing practical he could do to help Sam, and he should not feel guilty for taking this personal time with Tina. Yet he couldn't help feeling deep down that his place was really at Sam's side, giving support and encouragement, and just letting Sam know there was someone who cared what he was going through.

He began wishing he'd been able to timetable his surprise earlier in the day. If he couldn't make it to Australia, which appeared to be increasingly beyond the realms of probability, he ought to be heading back so that he could take a proper tour of duty in the Imaging Chamber. So far Sammi Jo had been marvelous, but she was still in mourning for her parents, and still having to deal with all the other raw emotions that certain recent revelations had brought to the surface. It was not fair for Al to be putting all this extra stress on her at such a difficult time.

Thus Al began to feel as impatient as his paramour.

He finally suggested an early lunch, knowing it would take the rest of the morning for Tina to glam herself up – "Wear the new jump-suit, honey" - thus giving him ample time to shower and dress in his desert camo uniform and then check in with Sam once more to reassure himself he could be spared for the afternoon.

**Broken Hill**

**Saturday 15th February 1.20am**

Al was both relieved and positively pleased to see Sam not just wide-awake, but sitting fully upright, his legs over the edge of the bed. He was leaning across the dresser that doubled as a nightstand, looking intently at a laptop that sat perched on the edge of the cabinet, by the light of a small lamp. Sam didn't even notice his friend's arrival at first, since Al had materialized at the foot of the bed.

Normally, Al would have had fun re-orienting himself and poking his head through the screen to make Sam jump. Two things stopped him. Primarily, it was the leaper's frail condition, which made Al fear he could induce a heart attack, but the more practical reason was that he had to remain seated directly in front of the webcam sending his representation through the video screen in order to preserve the illusion that he was in the Imaging Chamber.

"Whatcha doin' Sam?" Al announced his presence jovially, "Playing solitaire? Who's winning?"

Even though he'd spoken fairly softly, Sam still seemed startled, "Al! You don't have to shout. I'm not deaf."

"You still got a headache, pal?" Al lowered his voice still further in deference to Sam's comment.

"A little, not too bad," Sam reassured him, "in fact I'm feeling quite a bit better than I was. Why?"

"Only that I was a long way short of shouting, buddy. You sure you're okay?"

"Hmmm," mused Sam, "that fits with what I was just reading, here, look." He pointed at the computer screen.

"What does it say?" enquired Al, without moving.

Sam was caught up in his subject, and didn't immediately question his friend's lack of locomotion.

"I've been studying up on M.E." he began, "Allie has built up quite a dossier – facts, symptoms, case histories, web links – there's a wealth of information in here. One of the problems is that there is such a diversity of symptoms, and no predictable pattern as to which tend to go together. All sufferers present with extreme fatigue - or more accurately neurasthenia - and dysfunctionality, and most have neurological symptoms such as parasthenia, pain and sensitivity in varying degrees to a wide range of things: light, noise, odor, temperature, certain foods, you name it."

"So you're, I mean _Allie_ is hyper-sensitive to sounds, is that what you're saying?" Al leaned toward Sam as much as he dare so he could keep his voice low.

"And light," affirmed Sam, "when I first leaped in and the bathroom light was on, it was as if I was staring straight into the sun, up close. I felt like it was gonna fry my eyeballs."

"Eeeuwww, graphic image, Sam!" Al recoiled.

Sam put his hands over his ears, and pleaded with his friend, "Shhh, not so loud!"

"Sorry, buddy," Al whispered. If Sam was this fragile when he was feeling 'quite a bit better', the Observer prayed fervently that he would not suffer a relapse to his former state. "I take it you managed to get some sleep earlier, since it's already tomorrow morning for you – just about."

"Yeah, I slept a few hours," Sam confirmed, "but that pattern is fairly typical too by all accounts. See, it says here," again Sam pointed to the screen, "under Common Symptoms – where is it?" Sam mumbled to himself as he read down the list of symptoms 'til he found what he was looking for, quoting: "Ah yes, this is it…" The leaper read directly from the screen, " **Disturbance of normal sleep pattern**. Hypersomnolence." He turned toward Al. "That's sleeping almost constantly," then turned back to the screen to continue reading "is commonest initially, often progressing to sleep reversal or else insomnia." Sam looked at Al. "That sounds pretty much like I've felt since I got here."

Al tilted his head. "Sleep reversal?"

Sam explained that as well. "Sleeping during the day and awake at night. It's sometimes called Sundowner's."

"Oh," Al answered. "Yeah, it sure does sound like what's been happening to you," agreed Al, sympathetically.

"Why don't you come take a look, Al? This is fascinating. Besides looking at ya way over there is hard with this eye." Sam gingerly touched his black eye, which was not as angry-looking as it had been, but was still far from fully open.

"I'm, ah, I'm…" Al stammered, afraid that their ruse was about to be discovered.

"Are **you** ok, Al?" Sam switched the concern around, "you seem a bit…uh…" he searched for the word he wanted and finally settled on "static… on this leap."

Sam's worry gave Al an idea, and he played to it, "Yeah, I'm fine, Sam," he began casually, like he was putting a brave face on, "I uh, I just sprained my ankle. Doc says I gotta keep the weight off."

"Since when did _you_ ever take any notice of Doctor's orders, Al? As I recall you sure never listened to me," Sam accused. When Al didn't immediately have a comeback, his apprehension escalated. "You sure it's just a sprain? How did you do it? When?"

"It's no biggie, really Sam," assured Al, "I don't need you to give a second opinion, honest. I just need to sit down whenever I can, and being in the Imaging Chamber talking to you is my best excuse not to be rushing round the complex organizing everyone. Is that okay with you?" He made his tone just the slightest bit hostile, so as to put Sam on the defensive. It was the best way to keep him from asking too many awkward questions.

"Sure, Al, take it easy." Sam made an open handed gesture to show he had no antagonistic intent. He was suddenly put in mind of having sprained his own ankle badly not so long ago, and though he couldn't recall all the details of how he'd come to do it, he did remember it had made mobility painful. He also realized that his friend and Observer wasn't getting any younger. "Rest while you can, old friend."

"Hey, less of the 'old' if you don't mind!" Al objected, pulling down on the jacket of his desert camos, "I'm still in my prime! As a matter of fact, Tina and I…"

"I don't think I want to hear what you and Tina are up to, Al. Just don't put too much strain on that ankle." Sam countered.

Since the injured ankle was a mere ruse to throw Sam off the scent, Al was sure it would withstand the activities he had in mind for later.

"I promise," Al tried to look meek, but it was hard to mask his smirk. Luckily, even though he wasn't on Sam's 'blind side' the Leaper didn't seem to notice.

"Are you just goofing off, or do you have anything for me?" Sam asked, as he continued his research on the laptop.

"Still nothing on a projected mission, Sam," confessed Al. "Ziggy won't commit to anything because of the timing. She won't even predict when you'll have your next meal."

"And Allie?" Sam wanted to know.

"Still enjoying full health, Sam," Al reassured the time-traveler.

"See she does, Al – enjoy it I mean - to the fullest. I meant what I said before, if I do nothing else on this leap, she's got to have the chance to get a taste of being a normal teenager for a while, to catch up on some of her lost childhood."

"I understand, Sam," Al told him, "It's all being taken care of; though I'm still not comfortable about her gallivanting around outside the Waiting Room. What if you need to Leap?"

"Let me worry about that, Al." Sam dismissed the concern. "I'm more interested in doing something more long-term to improve her lot."

Al was intrigued. "What d'ya have in mind, buddy?"

"Well, since Ziggy is being even more than usually unhelpful, I thought I'd do some investigating of my own and see if I could find anything in Aliie's life that needed changing – other than her actual medical condition, for which I don't have a miracle cure. In fact it has been likened to a messy bedroom – sometimes it has to get worse before normal order can be restored."

"I take it you've come up with something?" Al was glad that Sam had found something to enthuse him. The admiral was also pleased at the idea that they may get one up on Ziggy.

"Well, it came to me a little while ago. Remember a few leaps back, when I leaped into a dolphin?"

This wasn't what Al was expecting to hear, and his face reflected the fact, "Huh?"

"I had to help a newborn dolphin, you remember, surely?" pressed Sam.

"I remember the leap, Sam, but what does it have to do with helping Allie, other than the fact that she obviously likes the critters." Al waved his arm to take in the bedroom décor. Dolphins on the curtains; dolphins on the duvet; dolphins on the lampshades on the main light and the table lamp, a pottery dolphin family cavorting on the windowsill and dolphin posters vying for position with the Harry Potter ones. There was even a dolphin necklace hanging from the topmost branch of a silver tree on the nightstand, which also held a cross and chain, a heart pendant, and one with Allie's name in filigree letters. Pride of place though went to the one displaying a pair of dolphins, mother and child, tail to tail and nose to fin in a sort of lopsided heart shape. It was quirky, and looked like it was a one-off, a homemade experiment that hadn't quite turned out as planned.

In fact, according to what Sam had read in her diary, that was pretty much what it was, and why Allie loved it so much. Her mother made jewelry for a living – it was almost more of an art form for her, and she'd loved to experiment. The dolphins were a gift to her daughter for her fifth birthday, and the young Allie had inspired it having made a brightly colored crayon drawing of herself and her mother as dolphins. Sheena had reproduced the sketch faithfully with enamel, and metal, and solder and love. It had a unique charm about it, and though her mother had subsequently made 'perfect' dolphin jewelry that Allie always thrilled to see, nothing was ever quite as special as this piece, which never left her sight any more.

She had worn it constantly, except in the bath and in competition. She had wanted to take it with her on that fateful trip, but Mum said it might get lost or stolen while she wasn't able to wear it. So she had left it home on the tree on the nightstand. It felt like she had tempted fate leaving her lucky charm behind, and Mum had laughed at her fears when she had won the competition without it. Yet as it turned out, the trip had proved worse than unlucky.

"That's kinda the point, Al" Sam responded to Al's observation. "Allie's diary talks at length about how she's always dreamt of swimming with dolphins. And I can remember how I felt on that leap: the companionship, the sense of peace and well-being. I think it could do wonders for Allie to have a chance to interact with some dolphins. So I've been researching dolphin therapy centers. There are case studies showing how children with all sorts of conditions have improved after a few sessions. There's even one here in Australia, hang on…."

Sam opened another tab in the browser and called up a web-page he'd bookmarked, "Here it is, the Bunbury Dolphin Therapy Support Group. The great thing about this one is they use wild dolphins, and never force interaction on them. The dolphins aren't slaves to the program. We need to get Allie to Western Australia, Al, I'm convinced of it."

"Noble sentiments, Sam, and you're probably right, but how are the Johnson's going to afford a trip like that? They don't come cheap, buddy."

"I know it isn't something she can fund from her allowance, Al, I'm not **that** scrambled. I haven't worked out all the details yet - give me a chance. Besides, Ziggy should be able to help out in that direction, it's about time she started to pull her weight on this leap."

Al took the hint. "I'll get her right on it, Sam. Meantime, don't go pulling an all-nighter. You don't want to get Allie's symptoms back."

"Uhuh," mumbled Sam, intent on the computer screen once more. He was a man with a mission now, and he was giving it his full attention.

Al gave the signal to sever the link.

**Washington**

**Friday afternoon**

Lunch had been pleasant, and as protracted as he could make it, but now Tina was once more like a whining kid on an interstate road trip. Only instead of 'Are we nearly there yet?' her cry was "Am I _ever_ gonna get this surprise, Albert Calavicci, or is it just another one of your empty promises?"

Al checked his watch. There was still some time to kill before the main event, but he didn't see any reason why they couldn't spend that time at the right location. It was probably a good idea to get there well ahead; he'd hate to have the surprise ruined by getting stuck in traffic.

"Okay, honey, let's make a move." Al grabbed her gently by the wrist and led her from the restaurant.

"Where are we going?" Tina wanted to know.

"You'll know when we get there," came the cryptic reply.

Tina spent the entire journey trying to guess their destination, and the nature of the surprise, but she didn't once come even close. Al smiled to himself, and refused to give away even the slightest hint of what was to come.

Then at last they pulled off Connecticut Avenue and into a parking lot.

" _Smithsonian National Zoological Park_ " Tina read from the sign as they passed the entrance. One part of her was excited – she loved zoos, but another was disappointed.

"This is my _wild_ surprise? A trip to the zoo?" Tina pouted and popped her gum. It was one of her unique talents that she could do both at the same time.

"This is just for starters, honey," promised Al, "in the words of ol' blue eyes, ' _The best is yet to come_ ' - trust me."

"Hah!" snorted the woman who had been given – in her opinion – more than enough reasons _not_ to trust the man by her side. She'd even gone to the lengths of having her own name tattooed on a super secret part of her anatomy, because she had gotten sick and tired of having her lover call her by another woman's name, be it one of his five ex-wives or the string of who knew how many former girlfriends/lovers/one night stands. She had to admit it had been a stroke of genius on her part, even if it had been painful for longer than she had anticipated. It was in a place he loved to kiss and caress as they embarked on their lovemaking, as much as she loved to have him do it, and the tattoo served as a timely reminder to Al who he was with. It had been a long time since he had climaxed with any other name but hers on his lips.

Of course, the mutterings in his sleep were another matter. Ruthie's name had been all too frequent in those of late.

Tina really couldn't understand what the deal was. Ruthie was just a crippled old bag, how could she possibly be any competition? Yet Tina felt threatened by her, felt jealous of the look on Al's face when he spoke of her, or even when he was thinking about her. Oh yes, Tina could tell when he was thinking about his precious Ruthie. He was doing an awful lot of that lately too.

It was strange – originally, Tina had only felt intimidated by the 'specter' of Al's first wife, Beth. His feelings for that woman ran so deep that Tina didn't think she could ever measure up. Waking and sleeping, it had been Beth's name that had haunted their on/off relationship more than any other. Yet after Dr Beckett leaped into Dr Ruth, Al had stopped comparing her to Beth, and their relationship had grown stronger. He'd even said those longed-for words "I love you" for the first time.

For a while, quite a long while, Tina had thought that she had Al exclusively. Then Ruthie had been hurt in that dreadful bombing. Tina felt sorry for her, of course. It was a horrible thing to happen to anybody. She wouldn't wish that fate on anyone, even a love rival. Tina wasn't that cruel. So why did she find herself having these fleeting thoughts of how much better it would have been if the old girl had just died instead? That was a wicked thing to think, she knew it was, but she couldn't help herself.

These thoughts kept Tina somewhat sullen as they started their tour of the zoo, taking in the kangaroos and zebras and pandas before moving on to the giraffes and elephants. Al had a copy of the zoo map, and was careful to keep them moving in the right direction, but not too fast.

Al did his best to lighten Tina's mood. It was an uphill struggle at first, but gradually he began to notice the odd grin break through her dour expression. Try as she might to appear unimpressed and disinterested, by the time they reached the hippo enclosure and Al had compared the slumbering grey lump at the water's edge to Senator Beecham – a woman of more than ample proportions and advanced years, with silver grey hair and a tendency to fall asleep and drool during long meetings – Tina couldn't hold back her merriment any longer.

"Oh, Al! You are soooo wicked!" Tina informed him with a giggle, slapping him playfully on the arm.

" _Me_?" responded Al incredulously, pointing to himself and looking at her innocently. "I assure you, honey, I'm an Angel really. These horns are just to hold my halo up!" Al made a gesture with both hands to his temples, index fingers pointing upward like mock bulls horns. Then he playfully charged at her, sending her running randomly ahead, giggling gleefully. Something about Tina's perpetually girlish gaiety made him feel like a teenage boy again, without a care in the world. She did his old heart good.

Things were shaping up nicely.

Soon he found himself pursuing her along the path between the Mexican Wolves and the small Mammal house. Their destination was only two or three exhibits ahead.

Al glanced at his watch. They could afford to advance the schedule a bit.

He chased her well past the wolf enclosure, heading for the Great Ape House, before breathlessness forced him to stop. He may _feel_ like a kid again, but he was no spring chicken. Keeping up with Tina was exhausting. He was after all - as critics loved to point out - easily old enough to be her father. Not that his thoughts regarding her had _ever_ been paternal, far from it. Come to think of it, Tina was not as young as she'd been when they met either, but her motto was 'Growing old may be compulsory, but growing up is optional!' She was eternally young at heart.

His own heart was hoping he could take the pace, not end up needing a pacemaker. Still, if things went according to plan, they'd be having an early night tonight. The fact that sleep wouldn't be top of the list once they got into bed was beside the point.

Tina had finally realized that Al was no longer in pursuit, and trotted back to where he was bent over, clutching at a railing and looking red in the face.

"You okay, honey?" she enquired with genuine concern.

"Just getting my second wind," Al reassured her, with a sly wink and a quick pinch of her bottom for good measure, "better get ready to run again, there's still a wild animal on the loose around here."

Tina squealed and squirmed out of arms reach. "You'd better be careful, lover-boy," she cautioned, "they tend to shoot stampeding animals round here!"

She skipped further out of range, issuing a silent challenge to resume the chase.

Al took a deep breath, and took off after her. They were almost at the Gibbon Ridge, so he began lolling with a rolling gait, dragging his arms and making noises like an alpha-male primate. He even beat his chest, King Kong style.

Tina burst into fits of almost uncontrollable laughter. Al was amazing – he could be so serious and somber with the committee, a well respected retired Rear Admiral, and then let his inhibitions loose and behave so crazily in public, reverting to the mentality of his Ensign persona, who thought high ranking officers were horses' asses.

In fact, his display had thus far gone more or less unnoticed, as the path they traveled had been sparsely populated. At this juncture, however, they turned a corner and ran almost literally into a large group of adults and children that could have been a school trip, but looked more like two or three families combined for a day out. In the lead was a stern looking woman with her hair piled into a tight bun and her tweed skirt sharply pleated. She made Nurse Ratched look like Florence Nightingale.

"Ahem!" she cleared her throat exaggeratedly as Al scudded to a halt just in time to avoid knocking her to the ground. "In your exuberance, you seem to have _mislaid_ the grandchild you are seeking so hard to amuse!" she announced haughtily.

Al fumed, but resisted the urge to give her some tart reply. He didn't want this day spoilt with a pointless argument. Instead, he offered a humble apology for his reckless behavior, and moved to pass the group.

"One would think you would display a little more decorum at your age, sir!" she shot to his passing form, ushering her offspring to her side like a protective mother hen gathering her chicks under her wing. They scuttled into place obediently, stifling sniggers at the funny old ape-man.

Tina rejoined him again and hooked her arm in Al's, playing along, "Come along Pappy, we'd better find Junior before he - like - gets into any mischief. We wouldn't want him getting eaten by the lions, would we?"

The lion enclosure was some considerable way ahead, but the comment earned her a dismissive toss of the head from the old dragon, who led her brood away before the same fate could befall them.

"I'd like to feed **her** to the lions," muttered Al when they were out of earshot.

"Don't pay her no mind, honey," soothed Tina. "She's just an ornery old trout. Probably so grumpy cos she ain't getting any! Not surprised with a face like that! I bet her husband would _rather_ kiss a trout!" She giggled, and Al joined in, picturing the scene. The encounter had somewhat spoiled his mood for what was now imminent, but Tina's observation restored his spirits. He planted a kiss on her cheek. "Not everyone can be lucky enough to have a looker like you," he told her.

Tina grinned broadly. It was the right thing to have said.

Arm in arm they walked on down the path to Al's ultimate objective – the Reptile Discovery Center. Al sneaked a peek at his watch again.

Tina caught the gesture, and it reminded her of his promise.

"Is it nearly time for my surprise?" she asked, her eyes wide in anticipation like a kid on Christmas morning.

"It's nearly feeding time," Al replied cryptically.

"But honey, it's not that long since lunch, and besides - the restaurant's way back by the wolves," complained Tina, and then she caught the mischievous gleam in his eye. "Oh, you didn't mean us…"

"No, I don't think rabbit, rat and mouse are on my preferred menu thank you very much." Al confirmed.

Suddenly their quarry came in sight, and Tina looked from Al to the reptiles, trying to make up her mind which of them she loved most at that moment.

"Oh, Al, honey, they're adorable," she said, her voice rising an octave at the end.

In full view in front of her were five Cuban crocodiles, one of the smallest breeds of the animals, though often one of the most aggressive. Adorable was not a word Al would have applied to them - they reminded him of the swamps and the jungle, and those were memories he could do without.

At that moment they were greeted by one of the zoo workers, who introduced himself as Clyde. While not quite the archetypal slack jawed yokel he would not have been amiss among the Beverley hillbillies, it had to be said.

Al rolled his eyes, but smiled at the young man, as he introduced Ms Martinez O'Farrell. He'd already met Clyde when making arrangements for this afternoon's activities. The young man now handed him a large cardboard box, which had a series of holes drilled around it as if to enable an animal to breathe.

"Oh, Al, you didn't?!" Tina jumped up and down and clapped her hands.

"No, Tina, there isn't a baby croc in here. I think one pet predator is enough for any woman!" It didn't take a mind reader to work out what Tina had assumed.

Her face dropped and she gave a little petulant stamp of her foot. Her disappointment didn't last long though, she was too curious as to what _was_ in the package. Clyde had taken a step back, and was watching patiently until he was needed for phase two.

Al held the box out toward her, "Go ahead, honey, take a look," he instructed, "Happy Valentine's Day!"

She didn't need to be invited twice, and placed the box on the ground so that she could examine its contents more easily. She was glad Al had suggested the jump suit. It was much easier to crouch over the parcel in that than it would have been in one of her skintight skirts.

Opening up the lid, the first thing she noticed was a certificate informing her that a baby Cuban crocodile had been adopted in her name.

Literally.

Al had arranged (for something over and above the normal maximum adoption contribution of a thousand dollars) to have the young male christened Martinez, in honor of her.

"Oooooh, baby, that's soooo sweeeet!" Tina shrieked. If her grin had been any broader it would have met round the back of her head.

Next she found a newsletter, which she set aside to read later. She noticed that she could expect further missives of this nature to be posted to her on a regular basis. Her eye was then drawn to a glossy color photo and fact sheet on the Cuban breed. Not that it told her anything she didn't already know, but it was still nice to have. She laid them carefully with her other treasures to explore what else her box of treasures held. Now it really did feel like Christmas morning.

An official document informed her that she would not only receive recognition in the FONZ annual report, but would also be listed for one year on the Adopt a Species recognition board in the Zoo's Visitor Center.

The last item out of her magic box was a tote bag, bearing the FONZ (Friends of the National Zoo) insignia and the inevitable giant panda logo. Tina immediately put all her other bits and pieces inside lest they blow away.

It seemed a large box for such thin items, and Tina peered inside as if convinced she would find something further.

"There **is** one more thing," Al confirmed, "but you have to wait for that 'til you've fed your friends there. Mustn't keep 'em waiting any longer hon."

"I get to _feed_ them?" Tina emphasized the fourth word with a shrill squeak of delight. She stood up and threw her arms around Al's neck, planting a huge kiss on his cheek. "Oh, Al, honey, you were right, this **was** worth waiting for! Thankyouthankyouthankyou." The words ran into each other as she jiggled about in excitement.

"Everything is ready, Admiral Cally-vee-chee" Clyde emphasized his name in a most irksome manner, like he was trying to remember it in his own phonetic way, but Al let it slide.

"Foller me, please, Mizz Martinez." Clyde sniggered as he called her that, and Al thought he knew why.

"'You not coming with us, honey?" Tina turned to Al, pouting in her inimitable way.

"This bit's all for you, sweetie," Al informed her, "I'm fine watching from here."

"Good job they're not fed _chicken_!" Tina shot at him good naturedly as she let herself be led to the entrance to the enclosure.

Al gave her a slow handclap, acknowledging with a tilt of his head that while superficially she may have insulted him, it was actually an unusually quick and apt retort.

He watched until Tina emerged with the food and began throwing it to the creatures, then, while she was too engrossed to notice, Al slipped away to prepare the climax to the day.


	8. Making all the right moves

**Chapter Six**

**QLHQ**

**Friday 14th February 2003**

_I'm in a really well equipped gym. It has **everything** , and I have **exclusive** use of it - it's hard to believe that I'm really **not** in Heaven._

_I'm not sure exactly where I am, but Doctor Beeks has now told me I'm not dead after all. I don't pretend to understand everything they have told me about the weird set-up going on here. It sounds like something from a sci-fi movie. I've settled on an explanation of my own that she has said covers it pretty well. It made me feel good to come up with something clever like that; it's been a long time since I was that 'on the ball'. So we've agreed – I'm having an out-of-body experience!_

_I know it will come to an end, though they can't tell me when. I have to go back to the total exhaustion and being in almost constant pain and mostly bedridden. I can't say I'm looking forward to that, of course I'm not, but I want to go home to my dad eventually, and that's the trade off. I'll take it, no fuss, no complaints. Meantime, I've been told to enjoy myself, and that's what I intend to do._

_I've already been to the huge canteen they have in this place – again when nobody else much was about, so I got to order whatever I wanted and they cooked it for me. Every meal will be like that while I'm here, they've promised me. I can ask for anything my heart (or stomach) desires, and if they haven't got it, they'll get it in for me. I feel like royalty._

_I've managed to watch a whole film without falling asleep too. Now that was a real treat. Especially since it was the DVD of 'Philosopher's Stone' – or 'Sorcerer's Stone' as they call it in America. On top of which they have found me copies of all four books, which I am able to read back in my room, and I'm getting through several chapters at a time, instead of having to stop after a couple of pages because I can't take in any more. I half wish I could stay 'til June so that I could read the next one properly when it's released, but they have said it's likely to be days rather than weeks or months, and I guess I wouldn't really wanna be away from my dad that long._

_Meantime, I'm cramming in as much as I can, and because I'm only needing to sleep a few hours like any normal person, it already feels like I'm packing a week's worth of fun into every day._

_It's the Greek doctor's turn to keep an eye on me as I go through my warm-ups. I'm looking round the gym as I do my stretches, and I can't decide what to have a go on first. I'm like a kid in a candy store!_

" _I'd love to see you on the asymmetric bars," Cassandra tells me, as if she's reading my thoughts and trying to help me make my mind up._

_It's okay; she said I could call her by her first name. She's really friendly, almost like a big sister. She and Verbena – that's a real funny name, but I haven't told her I think so – have both been very kind, taking it in turns to cater to my every whim._

" _Sure, why not?" I respond to Cassandra. It's as good a place as any._

_I think my muscles are warmed up enough, so I take a run up and bounce on the springboard - stretching up to grab the lower bar. I reach it with ease and swing myself round, going into a complex series of maneuvers._

_I feel like I'm flying. It is sooo exhilarating. I can feel myself smiling as I twist and turn and weave myself over, under and around the bars. All too soon, my routine reaches its climax and I make a flawless dismount._

_Cassandra applauds me enthusiastically. "I may not be an expert, but you'd get a perfect 10 from me!" she tells me, grinning broadly and stepping forward to pat me on the back in congratulations._

_Her words bring me crashing down. I suddenly realize that without even thinking about it I just recreated exactly my medal-winning performance at the Championships. The last performance I ever gave. The one that cost my mother her life. I twist out of her reach and stamp my way out of the gym, not even stopping to pick up my towel._

_Cassandra follows, asking me what is wrong. I don't tell her, I just snap that I'm tired and want to go back to my room. Let her work it out for herself. She seems to be pretty good at that anyway._

**Washington Zoo**

**Valentine's Day**

Al was back in position before Tina had finished feeding the crocodiles; she had obviously been savoring every moment, and had followed procedure exactly as Clyde had instructed to keep them both safe while giving her the experience of a lifetime. She was enthusing over the smallest Cuban – her namesake Martinez – admiring his yellowy-green skin with its yellow and black speckling for what – judging by Clyde's expression – was probably the hundredth time.

She looked up and saw Al watching, along with a whole crowd of spectators who had lingered in fascination at the site of the woman in the croc pit. Some were probably secretly hoping one would attack her, so that they could witness the gruesome spectacle, but she was used to being around the reptiles, and knew how to treat them. Tina called out to Al, "He winked at me, did you see honey? I swear he winked at me!"

Al smiled and nodded indulgently. Then he casually moved her cardboard box just a fraction with his foot, drawing her attention to the fact that the lid was once more closed tight.

Tina's eyes widened. She knew how to read Al's body language. The last part of her present had somehow found its way into the box. Whatever could it be?

Torn between wanting to stay with her new 'friends' and her eagerness to discover what was hidden in the box, Tina was actually relieved when the dilemma was solved for her by Clyde's instruction that it was time for them to leave the crocs to digest their meal in peace. He waved in the direction of his colleague who had been taking pictures, reminding her that there would be a permanent memento of her escapade.

As she made her way back outside, Al was relieved to see that the assembled crowd began to move on to the next enclosure. He wasn't keen on having a big audience for this next bit.

Once back on the public pathway, Tina threw herself at Al, flinging her arms around his neck and smothering him in kisses. He was officially forgiven any and all recent misdemeanors and was once more the light of her life.

"Oh, Al, you're the greatest! Thank you soo much! Martinez is a darling, and I've had just the best day! You were right - it **was** worth waiting for. I love you!"

Al returned her embrace, and the endearment, delighted that he had calculated correctly the way to Tina's heart. Eventually, they pulled apart – the lure of the box too great for her to ignore a moment longer.

"May I….?" she asked eagerly.

Al had hoped she would ask. This was going exactly according to plan.

"Here, let me."

Al bent down on one knee to grapple with the box lid, placing himself between Tina and the contents so that she wouldn't see what he removed from inside.

She bounced up and down in anticipation, dodging to left and right to try and sneak a peek over his shoulder. Unable to play by his unspoken rules, she moved around him to get a look, not willing to wait a moment longer. Exactly as Al had predicted she would. He knew her so well.

Once she was in position in front and slightly to one side of him, Al held up his prize as if it were the queen's crown on a velvet cushion, and he the humble servant in a position of homage.

"What a cutie!" shrieked Tina, as she saw the plush toy crocodile Al was holding toward her. He was very similar in coloring to her own Martinez, with a little red velvet collar around his neck. Curiously, he had a pink satin ribbon wrapped around his jaws and tied in a bow, clamping them shut.

"Why has the poor little fellow been muzzled?" she wanted to know, "Surely he doesn't bite!"

Without rising to his feet, Al simply suggested, "Why don't you untie him and find out?"

Eagerly, Tina obeyed, pulling the ends of the ribbon gently as if for fear of hurting the cuddly little croc. As it came undone, and the jaws opened, Tina could see that the ribbon went not only around the outside of the mouth, but through the middle too, lying across his tongue with something threaded onto it like a sweetie he was sucking.

Removing it carefully, Tina's eyes widened in amazement when she realized exactly what it was. Her own jaw opened wide, but for once no sound came out.

"Christina Martinez O'Farrell," Al addressed her formerly, reaching up to take her hand and with it the precious treasure, "would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

With one smooth movement, he took the engagement ring from her, and positioned it on the edge of her fingertip, looking up for permission to slip it into place on her hand.

"Seriously?" Tina gulped in amazement, thrown completely for a loop by this totally unexpected turn of events.

"Honey, I _never_ joke about marriage!" responded Al, disappointed by her response. In a hundred imaginings, this was not what he had anticipated as her reply.

Gulping again, Tina nodded vigorously until she could trust herself to speak.

"Oh, Al, I thought you'd _never_ ask!" Tina saw his face, looking lost and uncertain, and realized that this was probably not the best way to answer such a momentous question. "Of course I'll marry you," she reassured him at last, letting him slide the ring onto her finger and then admiring it.

Suddenly, those members of the public who had been slow to move on and therefore cottoned on to what was taking place, burst into spontaneous applause, accompanied by shouts and whistles and suggestive comments, sending both protagonists bright red. They had been so wrapped up in the moment that the rest of the world had ceased to exist until that moment.

Al tried to rise to his feet so that they could seal the contract with a kiss. His knee protested and he stumbled, but instantly strong arms reached out to assist him. Then they were both mobbed by a hoard of people patting them on the back and hugging Tina and shaking Al warmly by the hand - seemingly heedless of the fact that they were total strangers.

Tina thought it was wonderful to share her special moment with so many people, Al would have preferred it to be a little more intimate, but then he supposed it was his own fault – he'd chosen the location. At the end of the day, as long as Tina was happy, he would go with the flow.

The flow fairly soon took him to where he'd been heading anyway.

"Go on then, give her a kiss!" came a coarse voice from the crowd. It was immediately echoed by several more, until the entire group, which seemed to be swelling in numbers by the second, began chanting rhythmically and stamping their feet: "Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss."

It was like the balcony scene at the Royal Wedding all over again.

Al played to it, cupping his hand to his ear as if he couldn't hear the command. The crowd yelled louder, "Kiss her! Kiss her!" Al held up a hand to quiet the crowd. "Happy to oblige," he announced, grabbing Tina in a tango hold and draping her backwards over his arm before planting a passionate kiss on his new bride-to-be.

The crowd went wild, cheering and applauding as he raised her back to an upright position and they clinched into a tight embrace. Al kissed her again, longer, deeper, and if possible even more passionately than before.

As with all good heroines in romantic movies, Tina had the good grace to pop her lower leg in the air behind her to show her appreciation of the toe-curling kiss.

The kiss went on for a very long time. One watcher even started counting off the seconds, while another commented that they would soon have to come up for air.

A third was looking beyond that, "Hey, you guys, get a room!"

"Good idea," Al whispered to his lover when their lips finally parted. He took out his mobile phone and hit 'send' on a saved text message "Order confirmed," before returning it to his pocket. This told the hotel to have a pre-arranged celebratory meal ready and waiting in their room for their return. "The champagne's on ice. Shall we blow this popsicle stand and head back to the hotel?"

Tina nodded eagerly - still too breathless from the kiss and the excitement to speak.

Al reached down and retrieved Tina's cardboard box, into which she carefully nestled the cuddly crocodile. Closing it for safety, Al shifted the box 'til it was balanced under one arm, and then offered the other to his fiancée. Hmm, he liked the way that sounded in his brain. She took his arm, and with smiles and nods and thank yous to their well-wishers, they headed back by the shortest route to their car.

Tina spent almost the entire drive back admiring her ring. It was a solid gold band with a solitaire diamond surrounded by a cluster of five pink gemstones, which when asked, Al confirmed to be pale sapphires.

Now Tina knew her gemstones. These looked to be at least ¾ carat each, and the diamond was a one and a half or her name wasn't Tina.

"Al, honey, pink sapphires are – like – so rare! Wherever did you find them? This ring must have cost an arm and a leg!"

"As long as your pet croc isn't going to collect on that payment, I'm okay with it!" laughed Al.

Tina took the plush toy out of the box, which she had on her lap, and made little snappy gestures with it. "Don't worry, honey, I got 'em _both_ well trained!" she giggled in response.

'And I'm probably next!' mused Al.

He wasn't having second thoughts though. He'd weighed up the pros and cons of taking this step a thousand times. Even to the extent of making a list in two columns, pros in blue ink, and cons in red. The blue column was longer than he'd anticipated, and the red one shorter. At the end of his deliberations, the only red item that _really_ bothered him was having to share Tina with her cantankerous pet crocodile. Bottom line - as long as she didn't expect him to take his turn at looking after the scaly snapper, he reckoned it was a compromise that would be worth him making. He even told himself that he was well past Ross Geller's worries of having yet another failed marriage, and if things _didn't_ work out in the long term, she'd just have to join the queue for the alimony checks. Of course, he could always have Ziggy draw up a watertight pre-nuptial agreement…

…"What are you smiling at, honey?" Tina broke into his ponderings as they left the car to the valet parking.

"Just thinking how happy we're gonna be," Al recovered quickly, and gave her a mischievous wink.

They entered the hotel lobby to be greeted by discreet but genuine congratulations from everyone from the doorman to the chambermaid. Al was relieved when they finally made it back to their room, but in the spirit of the occasion he decided to 'rehearse' and swept Tina up to carry her over the threshold of the bedroom doorway. It wasn't altogether accidental that he 'tripped' and they ended up sprawled on the bed in a tangled, giggling heap.

The afternoon may not be yet over, but the night had just begun…


	9. Silence is golden

**Chapter Seven**

**Broken Hill**

**Saturday 15th Feb 2003**

Having been up and mentally, if not physically active for well over six hours on Friday night and the early hours of Saturday morning, Sam had worn himself out and fallen into an exhausted sleep around 5am. Much of Saturday had been spent alternating between restless slumbers and deep dreamless sleep, but when he awoke in the early evening, he didn't feel in the least refreshed. He still ached in more muscles than he knew he had, and every movement was a painful effort that didn't seem to bring adequate reward for the struggle to feel worthwhile.

Alan had carried his daughter downstairs just before 7pm and they had watched a little TV, but Sam couldn't follow what was going on. He couldn't be sure if it was just that leaping had prevented him from keeping up with the latest popular programs, or if he wasn't in tune with Australian tastes in TV, or if it was the M.E. fogging his brain, but he soon found the effort of watching the flickering screen was giving him a terrible headache.

Mr. Johnson looked over and noticed Allie's frown, whereupon he switched the TV off without a word.

"Don't let me stop _you_ from enjoying it, Dad," Sam hastily offered.

"Don't be silly, punkin" Alan Johnson smiled at his daughter, "it don't bother me none."

"Poor old Al, you don't have much of a life, do you?" Sam was thinking aloud, and as he vocalized it Sam realized that the same held true for his own Al, at his beck and call in much the same way that this father was to his daughter. Sam made a mental note to be sure and express his gratitude next time his Observer dropped in. Unfortunately, his normally perfect recall was not just Swiss cheesed by leaping; it was all but wiped out by the inefficiency of his thought processes due to the illness he'd 'inherited.' He was not confident of retrieving his cerebral post-it when he needed it.

"What was that, punkin?" Alan asked, not having caught what had been said.

Sam's mind had moved on, "Huh? Uh, erm… I can't remember, sorry Dad." Sam confessed.

"Never mind, Allie," Mr. Johnson was used to this from his daughter. She often had problems keeping a train of thought. "Are you ready to eat?"

Sam's appetite had been as sporadic as his sleep pattern, but now that he thought about it, he did feel somewhat hungry. "Sure."

He perked up a little during the meal, and began telling Alan about his theory of how beneficial it could be to swim with dolphins.

"Oh, honey," sighed Johnson miserably, "we've talked about this before. I know how much you love the critters, and how you've always wanted to see one up close. I'm sure it **would** do you the world of good to go swim with one, but we just don't have that kinda money, punkin. You know that. I'm sorry."

The huge man looked like he could dissolve into tears at any moment. It obviously tore him up that he could not give his child her heart's desire. And more than that, that their existence was necessarily so frugal, especially since it had not always been so marked.

Sam felt mean for upsetting him, but he strongly believed he was on to something with the swim idea. He remembered the sense of peace and calm that came to him when he had been part of the school. He remembered too the exhilaration.

"I'm not asking you to pay, Dad," he reassured Mr. Johnson, "I know we can't afford a trip like that."

Alan was confused. Why mention it if she accepted that it was impossible?

"I was thinking of raising the money myself through a sponsored event." Sam clarified. "I can get people to sponsor me to do something and we could use that money to go. There's a centre in Bunbury near Perth that I've been reading about on the net."

"I'm sure a lot of tourists and most of the folks round here would chip in with sponsor money," admitted Alan, who had always refused to take charity from the neighbors. He conceded that sponsorship was a somewhat different matter, because it involved effort, and therefore meant the money was earned. He didn't share Allie's enthusiasm for the scheme all the same, mainly for that very reason, "What would you do though, punkin? You aren't in any fit state to take on anything arduous."

"I've not quite worked that one out yet, Dad." Sam confessed, then as an afterthought he suggested, "Of course, I _could_ try for a sponsored silence! I'm sure I could find the energy NOT to talk for a few hours!" He allowed himself a self-deprecating snigger.

Alan laughed and leaned over to hug his daughter, "That's my girl!" he smiled.

**QLHQ**

**Fri 14th February 2003**

Doctor Cassandra Koulianos had been in her new job for a whole month.

It had not been without its trials. In fact she had feared that this might be her shortest placement yet, especially after she had been reckless enough to reveal her secret voluntarily, rather than trying desperately to keep it from everyone for as long as possible as she had always done before.

It was not _yet_ common knowledge throughout the Project. The Admiral had been kind enough to promise discretion on the matter, and only tell those who needed to know. So far, only the Project Director himself, Dr. Fuller to whom she had first confessed and Drs Elysee and Beeks, along with David Beckett and of course the super computer Ziggy were privy to the information. That was quite enough to be going along with. They had all been most understanding and supportive, much to her surprise, but she knew it was unlikely that this would be the universal reaction.

She was finding that having this many people in whom she could confide, and be open and honest and 'herself,' was refreshing – not to mention comforting. Cassie couldn't remember a time when she could number so many people as true friends at the same time. On the other hand, it made her more edgy and cautious than she was used to being. Since there were a handful of people with whom she could drop her guard, it meant she had to be even more vigilant to keep it up with everyone else.

This place felt like home at last. Dr Koulianos felt that she could settle here finally and not have to keep moving on. She was not going to do anything stupid that could jeopardize that.

Being chief medical officer for the Project allowed access to every member of staff, especially since Verbena told her that it had been hard keeping up with routine annual physical exams when she had almost constant psychiatrist/psychologist duties to keep on top of. One of Cassie's first assignments had been to begin the task of mopping up those staff that had slipped through the net. Starting with the Admiral himself.

Verbena had been most impressed at how meekly Al had allowed himself to be led into the cubicle. The Project shrink who had been doubling as medic had always had an uphill battle to get Al anywhere near a physical exam, even given how well she was at handling people sensitively, and how understanding she was of his circumstances.

Cassie's psychic abilities had allowed her to be sensitive to the underlying source of his reluctance, even without being told of the scars of war he carried. By some means, without words, she had managed to reassure him that she would in no any way invade his privacy or make him uncomfortable about his past. Not that Bena would have done anything to upset the Admiral, and he knew it, but somehow, it seemed that he could feel more comfortable with the prospect of dealing with Cassie. Maybe it was simply because she **wasn't** a shrink.

The Admiral could be a proud and stubborn man, but he was a good one. It had broken Cassie's heart to see the abuse that his body bore testament to. No man deserved to suffer like that, much less a good-hearted man like Albert Calavicci. Yet despite all that, and his advanced years, and the stresses of running the Project and looking after Sam Beckett on his leaps, Al was in remarkably good shape.

She would long remember the look on his face when she passed him 'A-One.' Not to mention the fact he had automatically saluted her crisply, which could have been embarrassing for both of them had Cassie not returned the salute with the precision of a veteran, despite never having been in active service herself.

Cassie smiled a little smile to herself. That memory had ceased to be painful – the army boyfriend who had broken her heart when she found out he only wanted her so that he could sell her and her 'gift' to the military. Of course, when they realized what he had not - that she couldn't control it - they hadn't been interested, and instead of the glory and promotion he'd dreamed of Andreas had been reprimanded. It wasn't worth being bitter over, though.

Conducting the routine tests was an ideal way for Cassie to get to know her new colleagues.

Since she had discharged her chief patient soon after arrival - necessitated by the fact that poor Matt Langley suffered from Nosocomephobia - and the other victims of Rusty's temporary insanity had been passed fit for duty not many days after, she was able to make great inroads on the backlog, and after four weeks she had seen the majority of personnel.

She mentally put them into categories according to how she thought they would react to her secret once it did come out, as she knew it inevitably must if she was going to make this her permanent home. It amazed her to realize that the greater part of them were in the 'probable acceptance' column.

She didn't intend putting it to the test before it became unavoidable, but it was a reassuring thought.

As her shift drew to a close, Dr Koulianos looked through the last few files on her desk. A mere handful of staff still had to pass her routine physical, and then she would have met everybody. Barring a sudden outbreak of a major disease or a catastrophic accident, she should be able to mop up these last few in the morning, leaving a clear calendar to begin the new week with.

On the whole, they had thus far been a pretty healthy bunch - there was little to require her skills. Matt was the only one who still had serious injuries, and they were being tended-to chiefly by the physiotherapist at the rehab center at Sandia Health Center.

Cassie's biggest worry wasn't strictly a physical problem at all. She was continuing to help Bena take care of Sammi-Jo, and although the young woman was no longer completely withdrawn, she was obviously still in a very raw state emotionally. Both her mental and physical health were fragile as a result. S-J's appetite was almost non-existent, and it took all the combined wheedling of herself, Bena and Donna to get her to eat barely enough to keep her from fainting away.

Thus it was that Dr Koulianos decided to invite the young woman to join her for breakfast on Saturday morning, before heading over to the infirmary to finish up the last of the staff physicals.

**Saturday 15th February 2003**

Sammi-Jo had politely but firmly declined at first, as expected, saying that she was not hungry. Cassie was not one to take 'No' for an answer, though, and before she knew how it had happened, S-J was up and showered and dressed, and riding the elevator to the project cafeteria with the new Doctor.

They chatted idly as they made their way down the corridor.

Cassie was pleased with how relaxed S-J seemed. She had been told how Dr Beckett's daughter had been press-ganged into helping out in the Imaging Chamber, and was relieved at how well it had evidently turned out. It was good to hear Sammi-Jo talk with such enthusiasm about the process and it's potential.

There was not really much of a queue when they arrived, being that it was the weekend, and they exchanged pleasantries with those immediately in front of them. Cassie smiled, and Sammi-Jo mirrored her expression. The doctor knew that the young lady still had a long road ahead of her, but at least she was stepping out in the right direction.

Suddenly, the smile vanished from Dr Koulianos' face. For even as she thought the reassuring thought, a chill ran down her spine. She tried to dismiss the feeling of foreboding, and motioned Sammi-Jo to make first choice as they reached the counter.

"Oh, I dunno," Sammi-Jo muttered unenthusiastically, "what are you having?" She turned back to her companion.

"Well, let's see," Cassie mused, looking at the options on the menu board. She had never been one for a full fried breakfast, and was not in the mood for toast. "The oatmeal looks tasty. Is it one of those flavored instants?" she asked the cheerful looking young woman behind the counter, whose name she recalled as Jeannie, having done her routine check up earlier in the week.

"Oh no, we don't use instant here, Doc." She was told. "Fresh made not five minutes ago and piping hot."

"Then I'll take mine with cinnamon, butter and just a touch of milk please."

As she was served, Cassie turned back to Dr Fuller, "How about you, are you gonna have the same?"

"Sure, oatmeal will do I guess, but I always have mine with applesauce." Sammi-Jo looked wistful for a moment, as her order was promptly handed to her, "Momma used to make the _best_ oatmeal and applesauce…"

And at that moment the mushroom cloud went off above S-J's head.

She looked at Cassie for a brief moment, as tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I've lost my appetite," she stated curtly, as she turned on her heels, looking like she couldn't bolt for the door fast enough. She didn't even stop to put down the tray of food; she seemed to have forgotten she was still holding it.

It was almost inevitable that Sammi-Jo would collide with someone, and so she did. Her tray tipped, the steaming hot oatmeal went all down the front of a very large lady in a flimsy dress, who was knocked to the floor as Sammi-Jo barreled heedlessly past, seeking the solitude and security of her quarters.

"Hey, why chu no look where you going? Está usted totalmente loco?" the woman complained loudly in a strong Puerto Rican accent.

Cassie was torn between chasing after Sammi-Jo and tending to the unfortunate woman, who had landed hard on the cold tiled floor of the cafeteria and could easily have broken something. After a moment's hesitation, she decided that Sammi-Jo's desire to be alone could be indulged for the present, but she whispered an instruction to Ziggy to inform Dr Beeks what had happened, just in case.

Then, having placed her own tray back on the counter, all thoughts of breakfast abandoned, she turned to the woman who still lay on the floor, muttering under her breath.

As Cassie knelt beside her, the large lady began trying to sit up.

"Steady there," cautioned Cassie, "take it easy. I'm a doctor; just let me take a look at you. Are you hurt?"

"Ah, madre de Dios!" exclaimed the woman, brushing off Dr Koulianos' professional attention. Throwing her arms up, she stared heavenward, which from her current position was more or less straight up. "Why always me, eh?" she questioned, but not of the assembled witnesses, "It was no supposed to happen this way. Again." She propped herself up on her elbows and turned to look at Cassie.

"Well? Chu no gonna help a lady to her feet?" she cast her eyes around at the handful of other diners who were looking on with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"I need to check there's no damage first," Cassie tried to restrain her patient.

"No damage? **_NO damage_**!" her voice rose an octave, "have chu _seen_ what that crazy woman did to my dress? My lovely dress, she is ruined! Ruined!" So saying, or rather shrieking, she made a feeble attempt to brush the congealing oatmeal off her ample bosom, and huffily pulled her cardigan around herself.

"Thees floor is cold on my caboose," she complained, with a little snigger, and again tried to get up. This time helping hands stretched out to assist her, and she was soon standing up. Cassie was still concerned though, not least by the odd woman's even odder behavior. She could be concussed.

"Please let me check you over in the infirmary, I want to be sure…" the Doctor began.

"Everything is hokey cokey," the woman assured her, "See, I can still Charleston!" and she did, much to the delight of those watching. She muttered under her breath again, as if she were arguing with or complaining to an invisible friend.

"Even so, can't be too careful," Cassie persisted, "Are you new on the staff? 'Cos I know for sure I've not done your routine physical yet, though I thought I'd checked all the files and I don't remember seeing yours. No time like the present." So saying, Cassie steered the woman out the door and off to the infirmary in a manner that brooked no objections.

0o0

"Where they take my dress?" The Latina asked, alarmed.

Once in the infirmary, she had been given a medical gown to replace her soiled dress, which an orderly took out in a laundry bag.

"Don't worry," Cassie reassured her. "We're having it cleaned for you. It'll be returned as soon as it's fit to wear. Can I have someone fetch something else from your quarters for when we're done here?"

"Oh, I no have." The woman muttered, apologetically.

"I don't understand? You don't have quarters? Or a change of clothes?" Cassie didn't wait for clarification, but jumped to the logical conclusion, "Have you only just arrived? Poor thing, what a start to a new job!"

The large woman tried to jump up onto the examining table. It took her three or four ungainly attempts. Once up, she swung her legs back and forth like a child, and began singing softly to herself under her breath.

Cassie collected the implements she needed, and began her examination by listening to the woman's heartbeat with her stethoscope. Or so she intended. After repositioning it several times, Cassie tried it against her own chest, to be sure she had not suddenly been struck deaf, or the implement had somehow been broken. Her own heartbeat was strong, if slightly fast, which is what she might have expected from the injured party. She was perplexed. Shrugging, Dr Koulianos reached for a podgy wrist and sought to take a simple pulse. Again she could find none.

"What's going on here?" she asked, more of herself than the patient. She didn't want to alarm the woman over her seeming inability to detect any sign of life. "There must be a simple explanation." Cassie muttered to herself.

"Of course chu no find anything. At least chu no start beating me up like Sam did!"

"What did you say?" Cassie couldn't believe her ears.

"Chu are right, there is simple hexplanation. I have no pulse or heartbeat because I am no alive - I am an Angel. Angelita Carmen Guadalupe Cecelia Jimenez at your service." Angelita made a flourishing gesture, and winked at the Doctor.

A strange feeling took hold of Cassie, and in her mind she saw this woman with Sam, and a yellow New York cab, in an alley. Then she heard a shot ring out, so loud and clear in her imagining that she actually jumped at the sound and took a shaky step backward.

"Chu want to sit down, before you fall down," came the matter-of-fact advice.

Cassie nodded absently, and sank into a nearby chair, as the whole of Sam's leap into Max Greenman flashed before her mind's eye in a series of rapid images.

"You've met Sam before," she finally breathed, in awe.

"Sure," confirmed the Angel simply. "Sam and that devil in loud clothes he calls a friend." She considered for a moment and then conceded, "I suppose he not so bad once chu get to know heem. At least he cares for Sam. He eez good friend."

"You mean Al?" Cassie looked at Angelita in amazement, but couldn't help smiling at the description. How could she mean anyone **but** Al?

"Si, Alberto. Chu know heem? I glad he no here, his suits hurt my eyes."

"I know what you mean," agreed Cassie, "his taste in attire can be somewhat, how shall I say, in your face? He does have a good heart though." Angelita nodded in agreement.

Cassie had been processing the visions she had experienced.

"You helped Sam, you saved his life." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Si, that was my mission."

"Are you Sam's guardian angel? Do you help him on _all_ his leaps?" Cassie never thought to doubt that she was angelic. She _knew_ it to be true.

"Not all, no." Angelita shook her head. "Only when hees life in danger and he no able to save heemself."

Cassie thought back to the last leap, "Was it you who directed the policeman to save Sam from the fence a little while ago?"

"No, that was not Angelita." She didn't elaborate as to whether or not she knew which fellow angel had taken that duty.

Cassie suddenly looked serious, as the implications of the angel's statement sank in, "Are you here to help Sam now? Is he in danger?" It seemed unlikely; this leap had thus far been strikingly uneventful for Sam, who seemed to have nothing more to achieve than a good night's sleep for Allie.

"Si, I supposed to be with him now. Instead I end up here." Angelita punched the mattress she was sitting on with her fist. "Now Sam eez gonna die." A tear trickled down her cheek, and she whispered under her breath, "Again."

**Washington**

**Saturday morning**

Al was feeling good. Reports from HQ told him that Sam – although still feeling the effects of the M.E. - was coping with his situation reasonably well. Nothing new in mission terms required the Observer to link up with the Imaging Chamber nor did he need to dash home for crisis management at the Project.

He could enjoy his weekend break without feeling guilty. And he was _certainly_ enjoying it – several times just that morning in fact!

Tina was positively radiant. The engagement had her bubbling over with excitement.

Now they had finally risen from the luxurious bed, she was busy calling all her friends with the exciting news, and making plans that Al was sure were going to cost him the other arm and leg. Still, he hadn't the heart to put the brakes on her yet. They could sort out the practicalities later, and he could be the voice of reason if things got too far out of hand. For now, he was reaping the benefits of her good mood too much to want to spoil it.

"I already know **exactly** what I want my dress to be like!" she was saying to who-knew-who on the phone. Al just smiled indulgently, admiring her rear-view as she leant over the balcony of their hotel room.

A beep from his ever-present handlink told him that there was a message from home.

Al took one look at the screen, and hastily put it back in his pocket.

Tina had just hung up. Before she could speed-dial someone else, Al caught her attention, holding out his hands to her. She put her phone down and took his hands in hers, looking at him questioningly with her head tilted to one side, "What is it, hon? You want to go for another encore already?" She raised her eyebrows and indicated the bedroom. Though it was tempting, Al declined, though with the assurance that he would be eager to take her up on her offer later.

Thinking quickly, Al drew out his wallet.

"You know, hon, we're gonna have to throw an engagement party when we get home." Al told his fiancée. She beamed at him - Tina loved to party, whatever the excuse.

Handing her a large portion of the cash from his wallet, Al continued, "Why don't you hit the town and pick yourself out a sexy little party outfit that'll show off that ring to best effect?"

Tina's eyes widened as she thumbed the wad of money and instantly calculated how much she had been given.

"Really, hon?" she practically shrieked in delight, "I get another shopping spree already? You don't mind?" She threw her arms around his neck and expressed her gratitude quite demonstrably.

Al peeled her off before he could get sidetracked; "Mind? I insist! Now go knock yourself out, and don't come back 'til you have the perfect knockout outfit."

Tina was not going to give him another chance to withdraw his generous offer. She exchanged a passionate kiss for the trademark pinch of her posterior, and grabbed her shoes and bag without slowing down. She was on a mission, and nothing was going to stop her.

Al had a mission of his own. Once he was sure his fiancée had departed, he moved over to the writing desk and woke up his laptop. Then he reached for the handlink again and used it to trigger a connection with HQ.

"Okay, Zig, spill."

"As I have just informed you, Admiral, I have finally tracked down all the individuals whose 'hazing' led to the attack on Miss Fuller, as she was then."

"Upload the details to my laptop." Al instructed the parallel hybrid computer. He had been waiting for this information. Now he could make sure that they paid for what they had done to Sammi-Jo.

"The information you requested is already transferred, Admiral."

Al instantly sat down and opened the document, scanning it even as he continued his conversation with the computer.

"You are **absolutely** sure these are the right guys?" he needed to know, "All of them?"

"Admiral, I would not have passed on this information if I were not 100 certain of its accuracy." Ziggy sounded offended.

"Why is there no current address for this Trent Mortimer III?" Al noticed at once that one individual's details were very limited.

"I did not think it necessary, but if you insist…" Ziggy was clearly irritated, "Mr. Trent Mortimer the third can be located at 4301 West Roosevelt Road, Hillside, IL 60162-2029." There was a dramatic pause, after which the computer added, "Plot 2379 to be precise. That venue is the Oakridge Glen Oaks Cemetery."

"He's dead," commented Al unnecessarily.

"If he was not when they buried him, then he surely could not have survived so many years of interment, therefore I can safely concur with the voracity of your statement." Ziggy was not supposed to be capable of humor, but that didn't stop her trying.

"When?" Al wanted to know.

"The details surrounding his demise were not made common knowledge. It took me some time to access the post mortem report, which his wealthy parents had arranged to have "lost" shall we say." Ziggy was bragging that her skills had been equal to the task.

"Well done, Zig," conceded Al, knowing when the computer was fishing for praise, and that she would be more cooperative if she got it.

"He died a matter of weeks after the fraternity pledge night. The young man's car collided at speed with a tree and he was killed instantly when he was propelled through the windshield of the vehicle. It would appear that he was not wearing a seatbelt at the time. The official story that was given to friends, family, the college and so on was that his brakes failed on a sharp bend. I have discovered however that in fact he took his own life. He evidently could not live with the guilt of his part in the proceedings. His suicide note did not implicate his fellow pledges by name, although it made it clear that he had by no means acted alone. The young lady was not named either. His father, Trent Junior, would rather allow the rest to go unpunished than have the family name besmirched with such a scandal, so he spent a good deal of money in order to cover it up."

"Surely they had the suicide note destroyed," reasoned Al, "how can you know so much about what it did and didn't contain?"

If Ziggy had possessed a face, it would have been looking very smug at this point.

"A good detective never reveals their sources," was all that she would say.

Al finished perusing the details of the surviving pledges, and the former President of the Chapter, Vincent Taylor. The latter had not remained to take part in that night's heinous activities, but since it had taken place at his suggestion, Al had decided he should certainly be called to account for his involvement.

They had generally fared well over the years. One was a high-powered lawyer, another a respected doctor, while a third was a prosperous property developer. The majority of them were married – on the surface your typical average American successful family men. Except that they shared a dark and shameful secret. One that Al was determined should be brought to light.

"What do you intend to do, Admiral?" Ziggy queried, adding in a tone that was almost threatening, "I must make it clear that should you decide to take the law into your own hands and attempt to execute these individuals, I would be forced to turn you over to the authorities. Whilst I can see that Dr Fuller deserves justice, and these males should be punished – severely - for their crimes against her, it should not be via the actions of a vigilante – however well intentioned."

"I've got no intentions of killing 'em, Zig. That'd be too quick and merciful. I'm just gonna teach 'em a bit of a lesson, and encourage them to let their consciences do the rest. With any luck, they'll oblige with confessions that the local authorities can use to take appropriate measures."

"Regrettably, that outcome is out of the question, Admiral."

"Don't be so sure, Zig, I can be quite persuasive."

"I am sure that you can, Admiral, but that is not what I meant. The statute of limitations ran out on the crime 8 years 4 months 2 weeks and 5 days ago. They cannot now be prosecuted for their deeds."

Al swore.

Profusely.

"Even more reason for them to get that lesson. One they won't soon forget."

"How exactly do you propose to achieve this?" Ziggy sounded genuinely curious.

"You'll see my curious clutch of circuit boards. For a start I need you to get me some more information from Chicago."

He started to count off his requirements on his fingers; "I need the perfect location…" he started. The particulars were detailed enough for even Ziggy's analytical mind.

"…David can help with the specifics of the technical equipment; he'll have a better idea of what's needed to do the best job…" Ziggy had been instructed to keep this situation confidential from most people, but a select few were to be privy to the plan.

"…and finally I need the number of the best whorehouse in town. Ten to a dozen girls should do it I think. I'm gonna give these guys a night they'll never forget!"

Al was feeling pleased with how his plan was shaping up, until a shrill shriek of "dirty bastard" in his ear startled him into turning round, straight into a sharp slap around the face.

As he had been concluding his list of necessities, Tina had come back into the hotel room unnoticed. She'd made it to the nearest store and begun browsing, then realized that she had left her mobile phone behind, and so was unable to take snapshots and then call her close girlfriends for advice on potential purchases. Shopping for clothes was no real fun when you're alone, but having gal pals on the end of a phone was the next best thing to having them with you. She'd hurried back to their room just in time to hear what she assumed was Al arranging a wild stag night.

Without giving him a second to get in a single word in his own defense, she launched into a tirade: "I'd have thought you'd have had enough stag parties to last several lifetimes, Albert Calavicci. But then I was forgetting what a lecherous old beast you are. Your theme song should be ' _Mambo no. 5!_ ' Anything in a skirt is fair game with you, isn't it?" Hot tears sprung up in her eyes. "I suppose I should have known better than to expect you to be faithful to me, even for a day." She twisted the ring on her finger and tugged it 'til it came off, flinging it in his face.

"Forget the whole thing, the engagement's off!"

She turned on her heels and ran into the bedroom. Slamming the door, she threw herself onto the huge soft bed and howled as floods of her tears soaked into the pillow.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Eight**

**Broken Hill**

**Saturday night/Sunday morning**

The effort of eating had sapped what remained of Sam's limited strength, and he had retired early for the night, slipping back into the pattern of tossing and turning, trying to get his aching limbs to let him relax and rest.

By 11.30pm he had given up on even _trying_ to get back to sleep. Instead, he returned to the laptop and searched for ways to improve things – ultimately for Allie, but also in the short term for himself.

Lots of different theories on causes and potential 'cures' were expounded on numerous websites, but Sam could not be sure which held genuine potential, and which were merely exploiting the desperation of the poor sufferers of this dreadful and misunderstood malady. Sam wished fleetingly that he had leaped into the past as was the norm, and that the future from which he'd come held some breakthrough cure that he was privy to. He could only hope that such a cure was indeed on the horizon.

He was so lost in his studies that it wasn't until the figure looming over his shoulder spoke that he realized someone had entered the room. The man was tall, but not as heavily built as Allie's father. He wore a police uniform, the epaulets having three chevrons topped by a crown encompassed by a sort of wreath of feathers. A metal bar on his breast pocket identified him as Sr. Sergeant Joshua Ballinger. He looked very important: official. Sam wondered what he or Allie could possibly have done wrong.

The officer put his hand on Sam's shoulder, which tensed beneath the touch though it was not a restraining grip. Then the comment he hadn't responded to was rephrased, "What, no welcome for your Uncle Josh?"

The man turned to Alan Johnson, who had followed him into the room:

"Looks like our Allie's gone for the sponsored silence after all!" he laughed.

"Sorry, Uncle Josh," Sam smiled at the newcomer, whose mop of thick blond hair made up in volume what it lacked in length. His bright blue eyes twinkled with reflected light from the computer screen. Looking at them standing together, there was no way that these two could be brothers. This was borne out by the different surname too. So Uncle Josh had to come from Allie's mother's side of the family - unless 'Uncle' was just an honorary title.

Josh held out his arms for a hug, which Sam provided, though feebly. Sam decided that there probably _was_ a blood-bond here, judging by the concern in the man's voice as he queried, "Muscle aches troubling you again, eh, squirt?"

Sam nodded, "Uh huh," he concurred.

"Let me guess, you forgot I promised to call in, too, didn't you?" Josh's tone was not critical.

"I must confess I wasn't expecting company at this hour of the night, uh morning." admitted Sam.

"It's not like it's the first time I've called in after my shift!" teased Uncle Josh, "besides, you keep more antisocial hours than I do anyway!"

"That's true," admitted Sam.

Joshua sat himself on the bed next to his niece, and patted her knee, "Your dad's been telling me about this sponsorship scheme of yours."

"I suppose you think I'm being silly," the leaper shifted position to put a little distance between them. He knew nothing untoward was going on, but he still felt awkward.

"Just the opposite, punkin!" Alan Johnson came and sat on the chair by the bed, his face beaming with excitement, "Josh has come up with a terrific idea for a stunt that could have the money rolling in!"

Sam perked up, his own face breaking into a wide smile. It was refreshing to have help so rapidly forthcoming, and with so little effort on his part. Especially since everything he did was such an effort at the moment.

"I can't really claim it as my own brainwave," confessed the policeman modestly, "it isn't an original idea. I read about it on the Internet a while back. Someone in America did it. I guess it just stuck in my mind for some reason." He gave a little snigger, as if thinking of some private joke.

"What do I have to do?" asked Sam, hoping he would be up to the challenge. Right now, he wasn't so sure that the silence idea wasn't the most he could manage anyway. The only problem with that was the fact that it was unlikely to generate much interest from potential contributors.

"That's the beauty of it, punkin!" enthused Alan Johnson, "it ain't gonna tax you none at all!"

Sam was even more intrigued. This was starting to sound perfect.

"No offense, squirt, but even though you're popular round here, your friends aren't gonna be able to come up with the sort of pledges we need to get you all the way to the west coast." He leaned over and ruffled her hair affectionately, "We need something to get the interest of the tourists, as well as the locals," Josh began to explain, "and I think this is just the thing."

"No offense, Uncle Josh," countered Sam, "but if you don't tell me soon…"

"You'll fall asleep and miss it!" shot back Joshua, poking his tongue out at his niece.

"Sorry squirt!" he apologized, as Sam gave him a playful and painless punch on the arm.

Then he turned to Allie looking serious, "I'm going to arrest you!"

Sam looked horrified, "Oh, come on, Uncle Josh! You surely can't call **that** assaulting a police officer?"

Josh and Alan both burst out laughing. Allie had played right into Josh's hands.

Sam looked totally confused. He knew he wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment, but he thought he'd been doing pretty well tonight. Suddenly, he felt like he'd found himself center stage in "Three Guys…" when he was dressed and rehearsed for "Hamlet.."

"Care to let me into the joke I seem to be the butt of?"

" _That's_ the fundraiser, squirt!" Josh explained, "I arrest you and you spend the night in a cell at the station. We work out how much this trip will cost, and set 'bail' for that amount. All we need to do is put out a lot of posters around the town, explaining what you are doing and why, and ask folks to pledge money towards your 'bail.' We make a big publicity stunt of it, and hopefully we'll have the tourists falling over each other to be generous. We should get more than enough. It couldn't be simpler, and the beauty of it is that _you_ don't need to actually DO anything!"

"What if I don't make bail?" Sam queried nervously, "Do I have to stay in jail?" He seemed to recall having been in prison several times before, and invariably the memories were not happy ones, not by a long way.

"Of course not, silly!" Josh leant over and ruffled Allie's hair again. "That's another bonus with the plan. If we fall short of our target, we just wait a while 'til we get a fresh batch of tourists in, and do it all over again! We can do it as often as we need to, resetting the 'bail' amount according to how much we still need."

By now, Sam's head was spinning as he tried to assimilate all this information. Yet it _did_ seem to make sense. It even seemed like something Allie could manage to see through for herself if he didn't make the whole amount on the first attempt.

He was fired up with enthusiasm for the scheme, but had reached the limit of his diminished brain capacity for the time being.

"Sounds great!" he managed to confer a huge smile on the girl's uncle and father, but it soon morphed into a huge yawn that he couldn't even attempt to conceal.

Allie's ever-attentive carer picked up on it right away, "That's enough excitement for tonight, punkin. Time to settle down and rest."

"I'll come back uh," Josh looked at his watch, "tonight, squirt, and we'll go over the plan in more detail. Deal?"

"Sure," Sam agreed, though he was starting to struggle to remember exactly what it was he was agreeing to.

Too exhausted to argue, Sam returned Uncle Josh's farewell hug as best as he was able, and allowed himself to be tucked back into the bed. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**Al & Tina's hotel suite**

**Washington**

**Mid Saturday 15th February**

Al had spent the past hour trying to get Tina to let him explain. He came to the conclusion that he was going to have to 'come clean' about Sammi-Jo's situation, and hope that when he swore her to secrecy, Tina would take the vow seriously.

Thus far, she had not given him the chance. She wouldn't listen, and had locked the bedroom door so that he couldn't get in. Her loud and plaintive sobbing drowned out all attempt at conversation.

For the moment, he had given up, deciding that he could get nowhere until his erstwhile fiancée had calmed down enough to listen to reason.

So now he paced the room, puffing on a cigar to aid his concentration, trying to work out how he could get Tina to believe the truth once he'd managed to make her listen. He decided the fact that she had caught him outside Sammi-Jo's room that morning should actually help, in retrospect. The incident, coupled with his previous reluctance to explain it, would lend credence to his version of events now.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tone from his laptop, which he'd left idle on the desk when Tina blew up at him. Sighing, he went over and pressed the spacebar to wake the screen, wondering what else was going to spoil his day.

He found a conversation window open, complete with web-cam image. He clicked the camera in his laptop to on.

Al was surprised to find that the person seeking his attention was the new Project Physician, Dr Koulianos.

"What's up, doc?" he quipped, playing with his cigar as if it were a carrot, and then frowned at her serious expression, "Is it Sammi-Jo? Is she okay?"

He instinctively looked over his shoulder, as if afraid of being overheard discussing this sensitive subject, then he remembered that he **wanted** Tina to know about it.

"No, not Sammi-Jo," Cassie corrected him, "It's…it's Sam."

Al sank into the chair, his face draining of color. He shouldn't be so far from home - so far from Sam. This whole waste of a weekend had been a stupid idea.

"What's happened?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Nothing – yet." The Project psychic reassured him. Al let out a long breath.

Keeping his voice low, he asked, "Have you had one of your 'visions'?"

"Not exactly," Cassie wasn't sure how she was going to explain this, so she looked over to her left and motioned to someone across the room. He could hear the scraping of a chair as someone stood up and came over. The face that joined her in front of the camera was absolutely, positively the last one he expected to see.

"YOU!" he spluttered, "What the Hell are **you** doing _there_ , Chiquita banana?"

The sight of Angelita threw him so far for a loop that for a moment he even forgot Cassie's warning about Sam. The crazy woman who claimed to be an angel had really riled him when they first met, and he saw no reason for them to hit it off now. "If **she's** _there_ , then I'm staying right _here_ ," he declared loudly. "Let me know when she's gone, Cassie, 'cos I'm not setting foot back there 'til she's history."

"Chu stay away, devil-in-a-loud-suit!" Angelita shot back at him, "we no need chu here."

Cassie leaned over and whispered something to the excitable Angel, and the portly Puerto Rican nodded sadly.

"Leesen, we should no be fighting. We both want to help Sam, no?" Angelita reasoned.

"Help Sam, **yes**!" countered Al, pushing down his annoyance at this dreadful woman in his concern for his friend, "What do you know about Sam? What have you _done_ to him?"

"I no hurt Sam," Angelita was indignant, "I heez Guardian Angel, Angelita, remember?"

"Oh, how could I _forge_ t the chubby cherub?" Al sneered, "No such luck!"

"Please, you two!" Cassie sounded like a stern schoolmarm breaking up a school- yard tussle, which wasn't too far from how they were behaving.

Al cleared his throat, and had the decency to mutter "Sorry."

He didn't make it clear whether it was to one or both women he was apologizing.

"Why does Sam need guarding this time?" Al wanted to know, "what's going to happen?"

"I not know exactly," confessed Angelita, "I only know he in grave danger."

"Big help!" muttered Al sarcastically, "that's a pretty safe prediction on most leaps."

"Chu no understand," the late Miss Jimenez countered, "this may be the present for chu, but for me it eez the past."

Cassie looked at her new friend, not doubting the strange assertion, but as if it was stirring something in the back of her mind. Something she couldn't quite reach.

"So if it's the past, you should _know_ what's gonna happen," more than a hint of exasperation crept into Al's tone.

"All I know for sure is Sam has done zis leap before, and he failed. He died!"

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Nine**

**Washington**

For the moment, Angelita could offer nothing more helpful. No time frame. No idea as to what form Sam's demise would take.

She could only say for sure that "The Boss" had made it clear He wanted both Allie and Sam to live. The leap-out had snatched Sam at the very instant of his death, and placed him back into the Leap earlier in hopes he'd overcome the symptoms of the M.E. in time to succeed in his mission. When it looked like this was not going to be the case, Angelita had been sent to help. Only somehow she had ended up at the Project Headquarters, instead of in Australia with Sam. She didn't know what to do, and she was distraught.

Al was pretty distraught himself.

"Cassie," he indicated he wanted a private word with the doctor, and Angelita tearfully withdrew, "I want you stick like glue to that overbearing, overweight…"

"Now, now Al!" cut in Cassie in a critical tone.

"Okay, okay," Al waved dismissively, "Just don't let her out of your sight. And keep trying to get her to come up with some helpful details. Maybe she can 'tell' you something without realizing it, if you know what I mean?"

Dr Koulianos nodded. She knew exactly what he meant, and had already hoped that this might prove to be the case. They needed any break they could get, and if that meant surrendering to her 'gift', then Cassie was ready. She had never been more ready to accept her abilities.

"And tell David to take another look at getting me flown out to Australia." Al ordered. "If there is the slightest chance I can get over there and save Sam, I wanna be ready to take it."

"Understood, Admiral." Cassie could well comprehend Al's desire to race to the rescue. She even shared it, and she wasn't close to the leaper like Al was. She'd never even met him. "However, I'm not sure the merits of the attempt outweigh the risks involved. If you can't _guarantee_ making it in time, then you may be more help to Sam by connecting through the Imaging Chamber. In any case, the distance is shorter flying westward, so it would probably be quicker from Albuquerque anyway. Perhaps you should come _back_ instead."

"Not yet. Not 'til I have more to go on. What I **should** have done was follow my instinct and head on over there right away. I'd have been there by now." Al was on his feet and pacing with frustration. Why couldn't Sam have been in the States? Why couldn't he have been a couple of hours' drive away? Al would have walked a mile over hot coals if it meant ensuring Sam's safety. Instead, he felt like he was caught between a rock and a hard place, and he didn't know which way to turn. It was the fear of moving in the wrong direction that was now keeping him anchored in Washington.

**Broken Hill**

**Sunday afternoon**

Sam awoke early in the afternoon, and after a few minutes of foggy thinking recalled the conversation with "Uncle Josh."

He instantly became enthused by the idea all over again, and was soon deep into research on the laptop concerning the practicalities of getting Allie into the Dolphin Therapy Program at Bunbury.

He looked at the cost of the therapy itself, at the cost of accommodation and at the price of the airfare for Allie and her father. He checked numerous alternatives to make sure he got the cheapest possible quotations. He looked at the possibility of a cross-country drive, but since he/Allie couldn't take a turn at the wheel, he decided it would be unfair to expect Alan to take it on. Besides, the cost of fuel would be substantial in itself.

Finally, he reckoned he had accounted for everything, and added up all the necessary expenditure. He was dismayed by the size of the final total. He even checked it three times, hoping that it was just the brain fog that had caused the bottom line to look so huge. Alas, his sums were accurate. It was going to cost a small fortune. He might as well be asking for the moon.

Perhaps he should just forget it after all.

Disheartened and dog-tired, he saved his calculations and lay back down on the bed with a sigh.

He felt frustrated and deflated and defeated.

He felt angry.

Why had he been sent into Allie's life if he couldn't do anything to improve it?

He'd face tough leaps before, plenty of them – hardship, danger, odds stacked against him. Yet he'd always felt before that there was sufficient hope for success to make him battle those odds. This leap felt hopeless. He couldn't do anything. He didn't know what he was _supposed_ to do, and he didn't know how he could accomplish _any_ thing when _every_ little thing wore him out. Things he would normally take in his stride.

Right now, the lethargy had begun to take a hold of him again; the burst of activity at the computer having stretched him beyond the capacity of his M.E. ravaged body to cope. He had the most horrific headache; his neck and shoulders ached, as did his legs, his lower back and numerous other places.

Allie would have paced herself better, known her limitations and restricted herself within them. Allie would accept she had overdone it and given in to a prolonged period of rest and inactivity.

Sam was not Allie.

Sam could not accept that he needed to rest.

Sam could not accept that he wasn't Superman, and had to take care of himself.

Sam was used to taking a pro-active approach. He was used to leaping in, seeing what needed doing, doing it, and leaping out again. He didn't have it in him to just sit back and drift along. He needed to be taking positive action.

All he needed to do first was persuade his lead-heavy, weak as jelly body to co-operate and get with the program.

Unfortunately, just at the moment he was incapable of so much as formulating a battle plan, let alone engaging the enemy.

For an hour or more, he lay in irritated inactivity, which afforded him little relief or rehabilitation.

Then his brain latched onto something his research had mentioned. His Swiss-cheesed, M.E. befuddled brain had not formerly processed it, and he had only now recalled it.

One theory had it that the pains could be eased and mobility improved by undertaking gentle stretching exercises as used in Tai Chi. This 'soft style' martial art had long been considered therapeutic to those recuperating from health problems or injuries, as it involved deep relaxation and 'softness' in the musculature as distinguished from other martial art styles which emphasize a degree of tension in the muscles.

Naturally, nothing too strenuous should be undertaken, and pacing was important. A gradual build up from the simplest of activities was recommended, with the caution to stop immediately upon any additional discomfort.

The simplest activity was described as exactly that – gently nodding the head at least ten times, in a very shallow movement (the chin should only move up and down an inch in total) – but because of its moderate nature, Sam recalled, it should be possible to repeat the rotation up to ten times a day. Even so, he knew noticeable results should not be expected for around a week.

Since this was one exercise he could easily do whilst prone in bed, Sam decided it was as good a place to start as any.

Fifteen nods later and Sam fancied some of the stiffness had eased in his neck.

Encouraged, he moved to the second exercise, again only slight – extending the chin forwards, then back, like a chicken.

'I just hope Al doesn't decide to pop in just now,' Sam thought to himself as he bobbed forward for the second time, 'I bet he'd tease me about this!'

Right on cue, an exhausted looking Al appeared. He was wearing pajamas and a dressing gown and his hair was unkempt. He didn't quite manage to stifle a yawn.

Back in Washington, it was somewhere around 1:30am. Yet Al had been unable to sleep.

When he first heard the dire prediction from the psychic and the seraph, Al's immediate instinct had been to hook up with the Imaging Chamber and warn Sam that he was in danger.

It was Tina who had talked him out of it…

**Washington, Saturday afternoon**

She had cried herself out in the bedroom, and on hearing Al shouting when he found out that Angela was at the Project, Tina had crept to the doorway to eavesdrop and find out what it was all about. Her curiosity was able to outweigh almost anything, even her anger at Al.

Having heard, concern for Sam became her over-riding emotion.

Brushing aside Al's attempt to approach her with a curt, "I'm still mad at you, Albert Calavicci, but that can wait!' she demanded to know exactly what the situation was.

Al explained what little he knew, and told her he was planning to get Sammi-Jo into the Imaging Chamber as soon as possible so that he could alert Sam to the peril he was in.

Tina grabbed him by the arm and held him with an icy stare.

"What precisely are you gonna tell him, eh, Al?" Al opened his mouth to respond, but Tina didn't give him the chance.

"You can't tell him anything helpful, so why worry the poor dear?" Tina had always had a soft spot for Sam.

"Stop and think about it a minute, Al." Tina commanded. "You say, 'Heads up, Sam, you need to be on your guard because an angel says you're gonna die on this leap. But we have no idea when, or how, or why.' And how do you think he's gonna react?" She paused, and gave Al a knowing look while he processed the logic of what she was saying.

"All you'll do is put Sam on edge, constantly on alert for some unknown danger. He'll be, like, jumping at his own shadow. From what I've heard, he's not exactly in peak condition as it is. You could end up getting him in such a state that he'll actually be _less_ able to cope when the crisis finally arises. Why put him through it, huh?"

Al had to admit she had a point. Especially when Ziggy pointed out that stress was known to make M.E. worse.

Al had continued to pace in frustration for a while. He was feeling that in Sam's place, _he'd_ want to know that something was amiss. Yet he conceded that without any details it would serve only to panic his friend.

Ordering David to have Ziggy monitor Sam carefully and report anything untoward, Al set about worrying enough for both of them.

The silver lining to this huge cloud of despair was that Tina was now in a frame of mind to listen to reason. While he was waiting for something to happen, Al was able to take the time to explain to Tina about her misunderstanding over his ordering of the hookers.

By the time they had eaten their evening meal – ordered from room service since Al insisted on staying within easy contact of home – Tina had been apprised of the whole situation, and what Al was planning to do to Sammi Jo's attackers.

Tina approved. In fact she was strongly tempted to go along and join the party. She could think of a few things she'd personally like to do to those who had hurt her friend so horribly.

Al told her he'd felt that way too at first.

There was still a huge part of him that was of a mind to be there and deal out some 'traditional' Italian justice. He could pretty much guarantee that if he were to be in the same room with them, those who survived – if any – would envy those who did not.

For himself, he could then take the consequences satisfied that he'd seen Sammi Jo avenged.

What stopped him was the fact that those consequences would almost certainly leave Sam trapped on the oceans of time without his anchor. Some prudence and restraint were required. Thus he had hatched the plan he had just confided to Tina.

She had to admit that it would do the job admirably.

She even _apologized_ for jumping to the wrong conclusion.

Having cleared the air, Al was back in her good books, and the engagement ring was back on her finger.

In the absence of any news from the Project, they had retired for an early night, though neither was in the mood for their normal 'early night/make up' activities.

Despite Tina's best efforts to relax her fiancé, sleep eluded Al. He was still fretting, and although he promised he would not mention the dire prediction hanging over Sam, he needed to see for himself that his friend was okay.

Thus, even though it was nearly midnight back at the Project, Al had asked if Sammi Jo could power up the Imaging Chamber for a hook up.

Sammi Jo was not enjoying regular slumbers either – too many thoughts kept churning around in her head. She was glad of the distraction…

**Broken Hill, Sunday afternoon**

So here he was, yawning and disheveled, checking to see if Sam was still ok.

What Al saw did not entirely allay his fears.

Sam was lying in bed, bobbing his chin back and forth like a rooster strutting his stuff. For a few moments, Al just looked on in speechless disbelief. He rubbed his eyes, to be sure he wasn't dreaming, or seeing things inaccurately due to the remote connection.

Then, as was his wont, Al disguised his concern behind a humorous façade.

"Watcha doin', Sam? Laying an egg for your tea?"

Sam started, not having noticed his friend's arrival despite having predicted it.

"Very funny, Al." he countered curtly, "and what's with you? Off to a costume party as Rip Van Winkle?" Sam nodded to indicate Al's attire.

"Touché." allowed Al.

Sam didn't seem any worse than when Al had last seen him. Mind you, he didn't seem any better either. Not that his physical state necessarily had any bearing on his forecast demise. As far as Al was aware, despite being so debilitating as to be almost a living death to some people, M.E. was not known to be a fatal condition.

Angelita had said the M.E. had stopped Sam from saving Allie, not that it had killed them.

The danger had to be something else; some external force.

Al couldn't imagine that anyone would wish harm on young Allie. He certainly couldn't see Alan Johnson as the sort of man who would kill his daughter to be free of the 'burden of care.'

And since the illness kept her housebound, Allie dying in a second car crash or getting run over, for example, seemed unlikely.

Al looked around for anything that could potentially be a source of danger. There were the normal household hazards of course – the possibility of drowning in the bath; of being electrocuted or gassed by a faulty appliance; of dropping a glass and getting cut on a shard; of falling down stairs; even falling out of bed had been known to have surprisingly disastrous consequences.

How could one guard against such perils? If he told Sam to suggest that Alan got all his equipment checked for safety, and padded all his sharp corners, they would both think he'd flipped his lid.

Al rubbed his forehead in frustration. He would have been pacing, if the remote link were not keeping him anchored to his chair.

"What's up, Al? You got an update on the mission? Bad news?" Even incapacitated, Sam was adept at reading Al's body language.

Al looked up sharply, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He couldn't let Sam know – Tina was right; it would just alarm him for nothing.

Luckily, he was used to thinking on his feet - or rather off them in this case. He recalled the excuse he'd given Sam for staying seated, and used it again now.

"No, no, nothing like that Sam. Nothing new," he lied. "My ankle's just acting up a bit that's all; keeping me awake. It's the middle of the night here remember."

He deliberately didn't clarify where "here" was.

"Have you had it _properly_ looked at yet?" Dr Beckett wanted to know.

Al deflected him with a half-truth; "I saw the doc this morning." It was via the web-cam link, and had nothing to do with Al's health, but that was beside the point.

Before Sam could ask what the medical verdict had been, Al forestalled him.

"It's nothing to worry about, honest Sam. How are **_you_** doing?"

"Samo, samo." Sam sighed, "Dog-tired, bone-weary, however you wanna describe it. It's driving me crazy not being able to do anything, Al."

"So I saw with your little chicken dance!" teased Al, feigning a levity he didn't feel.

"Actually," countered Sam, "it's a recommended exercise for easing neck ache. And it does help a bit."

"You been spending too long on the computer again, Sam?" scolded Al, to which his friend just nodded guiltily.

"Anything productive?"

"Not really." Sam said morosely. He explained briefly what he had learned of the exorbitant amount of money needed to get Allie to Bunbury. It seemed like 'Mission Impossible.'

Alarm bells immediately went off for Al. Forget drowning in the bath – Sam was talking about swimming in the ocean!

"Uh, maybe it'd be saf- uhm _better_ to shelve the dolphin therapy idea for now, Sam." He suggested as calmly as he could manage, "You need to concentrate on improving your condition considerably first." In other words Sam needed to be well enough to survive whatever it was that was waiting to kill him.

"It's certainly not gonna happen overnight, Al. I'm convinced the two things will go hand in hand though, so I still wanna put the wheels in motion." He couldn't remember if he'd seen Al to tell him about Uncle Josh's fundraising 'bail' idea. The hours and days tended to be blurring together, and the order of events was hazy to him. So he told Al anyway, some of his enthusiasm returning as he explained the plan.

'How much danger could Sam be in at a police station?' Al immediately asked himself.

Unfortunately, his currently paranoid psyche came up with several potential scenarios – top of which was an attack from a crazed criminal! He made a mental note to have Ziggy monitor the identities and offences of the current inmates of the cells in Broken Hill.

"It's certainly an idea, Sam," Al forced a smile as if in agreement. Privately he was thinking, 'yeah, a _bad_ idea!' He tried to think of a way to deflect Sam's attention. Problem was that even working at reduced capacity Sam's determination was legendary.

It didn't help that Ziggy decided to pipe up and suggest that the idea was 93 per cent certain to be a money-spinner.

That was all the encouragement Sam needed. Despite the aches and pains, he hauled himself back into a sitting position, and was soon producing "Wanted" posters of Allie on the computer to promote the fund raising scheme.

In no time at all, he was too lost in manipulating photos to make it look like Allie was behind bars to even listen to Al's veiled warnings.

Frustrated, and conscious of the drain on power, which may be sorely needed to better effect at any time, Al severed the link.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Ten**

**Project HQ**

Cassie had spent several hours with Angelita, but they were no closer to solving the mystery of Sam's fate.

The angel had been handed back her clothes, now clean and fresh from the wash, and even repaired where the seams were showing signs of age and wear. Decent once more, she had willingly followed the good doctor around as she went about her business. She tried hard to think of something helpful, but kept coming up blank. Every few minutes she could be heard muttering to herself, "Poor Sam, he must no die! I _must_ save heem."

Once her duties were complete, Cassie decided to check in on Allie before she settled for the night, hoping that perhaps the leapee herself would inspire them to a flash of insight. In Al's absence, the doctor took it upon herself to make the decision that it would do no harm to have her meet Angelita. After all, the angel maintained that nobody in that time or place would remember her once she had gone, and Allie's memories of them all would be Swiss-cheesed once she got home. The important thing was to get her home - alive.

The girl had been polite and friendly, but a little withdrawn. She was still working through her guilt issues with Verbena, and though making excellent progress, she had much to think about.

Al had thought it best to restrict her movements once he'd learned of the danger to Sam, lest the leaper should need to depart in a hurry. He'd sent instructions to David to withdraw her previous freedoms, just in case.

Allie had not minded that she'd been asked to stay in the "Waiting Room", since she had lost enthusiasm for gymnastics and had plenty to occupy her in there.

Given her pragmatic attitude upon arrival, Cassie hinted to her that there could potentially be some danger to Allie's life, hoping that a clue would reveal itself. Unfortunately, her psychic skills were hung up with the acrid smell of smoke from the fire that killed Allie's mother, as they had been every time she'd been with Allie from the start.

Angelita had chatted with Allie for a while, at the end of which the girl was smiling and seemed more at peace with herself. The angel had learned a lot about Allie, and was pleased to have been able to help her, but had gleaned nothing new to help Sam.

Frustrated, they bade the girl goodnight and retired to the cafeteria. Cassie felt the need for coffee, and while the angel didn't need to eat or drink, she still appreciated the sights and smells of the foods she'd enjoyed when alive.

Angelita didn't need to sleep either, but she advised the doctor that she should get some rest. Cassie wouldn't listen. She insisted she couldn't even think of trying to sleep while there was a chance she could help prevent Sam's untimely demise.

They were joined around midnight by Sammi-Jo, fresh from the Imaging Chamber and Al's tense visit with Sam. She could add nothing helpful from her observations of Sam's situation, other than to say her father looked 'done-in' but seemed to be in a positive frame of mind.

She asked Dr Koulianos if there were some sort of stimulant that Sam could be given at the crucial time to help him overcome the symptoms that were crippling him.

Unfortunately, as Cassie explained, the nature of the M.E. meant that Sam was unlikely to respond well to a 'quick pick-me-up' even if they knew the optimum time to apply one, which as yet they did not.

The three of them talked long into the night, going over and over the little they knew, and trying desperately to fill in the missing parts of the equation.

Finally, despite numerous infusions of hot strong caffeine for Sammi-Jo and Cassie, both ladies found themselves nodding off over the table. Angelita fussed over them like a mother hen, and eventually managed to persuade them that they would be more use to Sam rested and alert. They agreed to go to bed only on the understanding that the angel would wake them at once if there were any developments.

**Cassie's quarters**

**QLHQ**

**Sunday February 16th 2003**

**6:48am**

For the third time since she went to bed, Cassie awoke with a start, fighting for breath and perspiring freely.

The same dream again.

Fire! Intense heat. Bright yellow and orange and red tendrils roaring and licking up as high as the eye could see, like fountains of flame, blinding her and forcing her into retreat.

Smoke. Acrid black, grey and white smoke so thick it was almost palpable - cotton candy as seen on an old monochrome TV - clogging her lungs.

Sitting up in bed she coughed. Her throat felt dry and constricted, her eyes stung.

She reached for the water she always kept on her nightstand and drank deeply.

Glancing at the clock, Dr Koulianos decided it was time enough to start her Sunday morning. She'd never been one for lounging in bed, and the night had been far from restful. She saw no point in prolonging it.

Heading for the shower, she silently cursed her 'gift' yet again. It had always been an erratic and unpredictable revelation– when it would appear; what form it would take; how ambiguous or explicit it would be. Yet despite all the vagaries, however it manifested itself, up until now it had always been a true and accurate prediction of something that was going to happen in the immediate or distant future. This time, it seemed to have gone into reverse. What was the point in having psychic powers if all they did was give graphic re-enactments of past events that were already common knowledge?

The water revived her somewhat, and she felt ready to face the day as she reached out for a towel to wrap her dripping wet hair.

Suddenly, her hand instinctively recoiled, as the towel seemed to spontaneously combust inches from her. Moments later, it was there as normal, unblemished.

This was getting very tiresome. Perhaps she should have opted for the early night after all. She was obviously not functioning at full mental capacity.

Cassie dried and dressed quickly, sighing when she went to make her bed only to have it appear to burst into flames. Perhaps she was trying too hard. Always before, her visions and premonitions had come unbidden and largely unwelcome. Now she was so desperate to find a way to help Sam that she was willing herself to see something and it seemed to be backfiring.

Admonishing herself to relax, she was soon indulging in her one vice – hot strong coffee. The first was enjoyed at a leisurely rate; the second was 'to go' in a biodegradable cup. She'd embraced Al's stance on not using Styrofoam at once. In fact she wholeheartedly agreed with his environmental ideals and was pleased that wherever possible, they were company policy rather than just a lone crusade.

These musings carried her down the corridors and along to the infirmary, where she checked her few patients and then sat sipping her coffee as she reviewed her files.

"Whoa! Dammit!" Before she knew it the coffee was in her lap, the cup on the floor. The file she had been reading was fluttering to the floor too. Both had seemed to catch fire in her hands. It even felt like they burned her fingertips, yet they were actually untouched. These visions were among the most vivid she had ever experienced. Shame they were totally useless.

Cassie pushed her chair back and stood up hastily, snatching a handful of Kleenex from her desk to mop up the worst of the spill.

Finding one application inadequate, she reached for some more. As she did so, her whole desk lit up as if it had been struck by lightening, the flashpoint being her desk calendar clock. It flipped from reading Sunday 16th February: 7.32am to Monday 17th February: 1.53am. The figures seemed to burn into her retinas, so she could still read them with her eyes shut.

Once more, the overpowering smell of smoke filled her lungs and she felt as if she were trapped by a huge raging inferno.

Dr Koulianos gasped, though this time it was less from the realism of the vision than from a sudden realization of its meaning.

"Stupid, _stupid_ , **_stupid_**!" Cassie admonished herself, striking her forehead with her palm as she made the declaration. The images faded to reveal a perfectly ordinary room though the date and time on the clock displayed Monday 1.53am for a few moments longer before returning to normal.

At that moment Angelita joined her in her office.

"Chu spill your coffee? Let me help!" she offered, grabbing some tissues and dabbing at the offending stain on Cassie's white lab coat.

"Wha-? Oh never mind that now!" Cassie brushed her aside impatiently, though not roughly. "I think I know what's going to happen to Sam! We need to talk to Al, pronto."

She took the angel by the hand, and led her out toward the Control Room. Angelita had to trot to keep up.

**Washington**

**Sunday**

**9.41am**

Al sat at his laptop webcam trying not to look as nervous as he felt. The urgency of the summons to conference with Headquarters could only mean that something was breaking with regards to the Leap, which in turn meant that Sam could be in imminent danger.

"What's going on?" he demanded authoritatively.

"I'm sorry, Al. I should have worked it out sooner, I was…" Cassie couldn't look him in the eye.

"Never mind the recriminations; you can salve your conscience later." Al interrupted impatiently, "Just tell me what you know."

"I kept seeing and smelling fire." Cassie told him hurriedly, "I assumed it was the fire that killed Mrs. Johnson, but it isn't. The house is going to catch fire! Sam and the dad are both going to burn to death, tomorrow morning."

"Well at least we have plenty of time to get them out!" Al was thankful for any small mercy in this leap. He wondered how quickly the Uncle could arrange that night in the Broken Hill police cells. Suddenly, that was looking like a much safer option than staying home.

" _Actually, Admiral_ ," Ziggy interrupted, " _if you recall Dr Beckett is currently in a different time zone. It is **already** Monday morning in Australia."_

"Oh my God, of course! How long?" Al swallowed convulsively.

" _According to Dr Koulianos' vision, I calculate that Dr Beckett will die in precisely 38 minutes_."

"There eez something else," Angelita did not even bother to insult Al as she addressed him, "I've remembered. Is not the fire that killed Sam and Allie, is what started the fire."

"Stop speaking in riddles you stupid seraph," frustration led Al to vent his anger on the angel, "We don't have time for your nonsense. David-" he commanded.

"-Sammi-Jo is already on her way, Al. The Imaging Chamber will be online in two point seven minutes."

Al nodded in acknowledgement and then glowered at the image of the angel on his screen again.

"There is beeg beeg storm." Angelita told him in her broken English, spreading her hands expansively, "The house, she will be struck by lightening. It will - how you say? It will _leap_ into the room," she bounced up in her seat, making an arcing motion with her hand. Her voice went up as she used the word 'leap', which she had not meant as a pun. "The bedsprings, they will uh…"

She was struggling for the right terms. Science was not her strong suit.

Al interpreted, and filled in the rest of the pitiful picture. "The bedsprings will conduct the current and fry Sam where he lies! Jeez, what a horrid way to die." Al shuddered, trying not to visualize it.

"We gotta get him outa there." He stated categorically, picking up his handlink, "Is Sammi Jo ready yet, David? We're gonna need all the time we can get."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Eleven**

**Broken Hill**

Sam had finally fallen into a shattered sleep. In fact he was way beyond exhaustion. He was completely and utterly wiped out. Even the first drops of rain pitter-pattering on the roof did not disturb his slumber. If he were sleeping like a log, it was deadwood for sure.

Al had already tried five times to rouse his friend, and been rewarded with –

Nothing. Nada. Not a flicker of an eyelid. Not a twitch of a limb, or even a digit to show he'd heard, let alone understood.

"Come on, buddy. You **gotta** wake up. You gotta wake up, **_now_**." Al exhorted him urgently.

" _Dr Beckett has had a serious relapse brought on by over-exertion. He is in a state of total collapse, suffering complete physical and mental exhaustion. I have no accurate information as to how long it will be before he awakens, but in his current condition, and given the well documented fact that M.E. sufferers tend to feel adversely affected when there are too few negative ions in the atmosphere, such as just before a thunderstorm, I calculate that in all probability it will be in excess of 3 hours."_ Ziggy rarely made predictions without a whole data bank of facts and figures to back her up. That she was doing so now was indicative of the humanity her creator had managed to infuse into her, alongside her enormous ego.

"Sam doesn't **have** three hours! He has less than **thirty** minutes!" Al emphasized, though he knew he wasn't telling them anything they didn't already know. Sam slumbered on blissfully unaware of his projected life expectancy.

Knowing it was a risky strategy, but acutely aware that the situation was desperate enough to warrant it, Sammi Jo joined in the attempt to awaken her father.

"Please, Dad, wake **up**." She pleaded, hoping that the sound of her voice might stir something within the time traveler. The raindrops started racing down the windowpane in mockery of the tears trickling down her face. Softly, between sobs, she begged of both her earthly and her heavenly fathers, "Don't you die, you _mustn't_ die. I can't lose _another_ father, I just **can't**. Lord, don't let him die!"

She and Al both wished fervently that they could reach across the miles and shake the dreaming leaper. Or pour a bucket of water over him - anything to rouse him back to consciousness.

"Sam! C'mon pal, wakey wakey. 'Time to get up.'" Al tried wheedling instead of nagging.

"G'way," came the faintest of mumbles from the bed. A slight flick of his hand in front of his face as if swatting a fly was the only other sign of consciousness.

"That's it, wake up Sam. You can do it." Al let out a long breath. It was not much of a response, but it was at least something, a small measure of progress. It was taking far too long though.

"Talk to me, Dad," urged Sammi Jo. 'Come back to me.' She added in a whisper.

"Tired," Sam mumbled, still more asleep than awake. He yawned to prove it.

"I know, buddy, but you gotta wake up. You **gotta** get up, _now_!" the imperative was clear in Al's tone. As if to underline the exigency, a low menacing rumble of thunder growled in the distance outside the window.

"Sleep… now." Sam muttered, "You… come back… 'morrow."

"Now you listen to me, Sam Beckett, and you listen good," Al adopted his stern Rear Admiral barking orders voice. "You get your sorry butt outa that bed **right** now, or you won't **have** a tomorrow!" He gestured for emphasis, though he knew Sam wasn't looking. His Italian temperament was rising to the fore.

That seemed to get through somewhat to sleepy Sam, and he shuffled in the bed. Another huge prolonged yawn escaped his lips, opening his jaws like a snake about to devour its prey. They even made a faint clicking, popping sound as if they were dislocating to accommodate a huge meal.

"Attaboy, Sam, c'mon. Rise, even if you can't shine!" Al's defense mechanism – humor – was kicking in again.

"Hmmph," moaned Sam, shifting position again but not looking as if he was about to bounce out of the bed. Not by the longest way.

"SAM!" Al yelled sharply, "Get up! NOW! Or that's gonna be your **death-bed**." He hated to be so harsh, but they didn't have time for luxuries like subtlety. A loud clap of thunder, much closer this time, gave a deafening period to the death sentence he'd pronounced.

Sam jolted awake with a start. He had a sudden clear feeling of déjà vu; that he had heard this conversation and its dramatic sound effects before. He thought he remembered that it hadn't ended well. He felt like he'd been through this whole leap before, as if he was stuck in a temporal loop like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. He hoped not. This leap was enough of a nightmare to live through once...

As if to continue the re-enactment his aching muscles went into spasm, jerking his body on the bed like popcorn on a griddle.

Sammi Jo watched in wide-eyed horror, momentarily afraid they were too late, and that a massive bolt of lightening had indeed struck her father. She opened her mouth to scream, but it caught in her throat.

Sam let out a soft groan, and struggled to control his wayward limbs. With an effort of will he was surprised he had in him, he tried to grab his right forearm with his left hand to still the twitching. He chewed his lip in concentration, but his co-ordination was sadly lacking and he over-reached, tipping himself from the bed in a tangle of bed-sheets and flailing limbs. He pulled half the contents of the nightstand down with him, including the bottled water and the jewelry tree, though not the laptop.

Sam's instinctive long cry, "Aaaarrhhh!" as he fell faded to a low groan, then silence.

"At least the lightening shouldn't get him on the floor." Sammi Jo stated hopefully.

" _Indeed, I can safely confirm that Doctor Beckett will no longer die in that bed on this Leap. There is still the extreme danger of the ensuing conflagration, however. It is not safe to remain within the building."_

"Sam, you okay down there, Sam?" Al was concerned that the Leaper may have injured himself, or worse still, knocked himself out in the fall.

Sam groaned faintly again.

"Hurt." Sam muttered after a pause. He didn’t specify where or in what way, or if the fall were the cause. He'd been in a world of hurt one way or another ever since he first arrived in this leap and certainly before.

He shuffled around a bit on the floor, like a cat molding a cushion ready for a long winter's nap. Further to the analogy, Sam rested his head on his arm and appeared ready to resume his own slumbers; seemingly oblivious to the mess around him and the fact he was on the hard floor, much less the danger he was in.

"No, no, you _mustn't_ go back to sleep Sam!" chastised Al. "You have to get out. You have to get Alan and get out of the house!"

"Al…" Sam could have been trying to say Alan, or addressing his friend. It was anyone's guess.

Al was getting déjà vu too. All too often of late he found himself exhorting Sam to stay awake and make a super-human effort to overcome injury and exhaustion to get himself out of peril. It was a habit he would rather they could break.

"C'mon, buddy, time to blow this pop-stand; get outa Dodge; vamoose; scram; skedaddle; make yourself scarce; in other words vacate the premises. Am I making myself clear?"

Sam looked up at him with a perplexed expression, but began trying to disentangle himself from the sheet.

"Way to go, Sam!" Al encouraged, but he was all too aware of the ticking clock, and how little progress they had made. He didn't see any way that Sam could make it out in time.

"You need to pick up the pace, Sam." Al warned him.

Sam started casting an eye over the objects scattered widely over the floor, his confused brain looking for the item Al wanted him to pick up. The M.E. brain fog was so thick as to be almost impenetrable.

Al shook his head sadly and sighed.

"No, no, buddy, forget that, just get yourself outa that shroud will ya?"

'Guess I need to choose my words more carefully,' he thought ruefully.

"Sam, you _have_ to be quick, this room's gonna catch fire. Do you understand?"

"Fire?" Sam repeated disinterestedly.

"Yeah, Sam, **fire**. You know the stuff that **burns** you. Ouch." He made a gesture like he'd touched something hot and pulled his hand back, shaking it and then putting his hand in his armpit. "Burn, yeah? - Only big time, Sam. You don't wanna get burned do you?"

"Maybe… later, Al. Tired now. Legs… hurt… bad." Sam couldn't help it; he simply wasn't able to get past the lethargy.

" _Soon_ , and for sure buddy - **real** pain. Not the phantom pains of a psycho-synergized condition. Your leg pains aren't for real, Sam. Now buck up and ship out!"

"Sure feel… pretty… damn real… to… m-me!" Sam growled lowly, momentarily going on strike in petulant protest.

"We **have** to get Dad moving faster, Al." Sammi Jo fretted, voicing the Admiral's own thoughts.

"I'm open to suggestions," Al didn't mean to sound curt, but it came out that way anyway. Sammi Jo was used to his gruffness, especially when he was under pressure so she took no offense.

"Allie need take back her illness." The voice of the angel came to them from the Control Room. It was said in a matter of fact way, as if it were the most natural and obvious solution in the world.

"Oh right, of course, why didn't **_I_** think of that!" retorted Al sarcastically, striking himself up the side of his head, "we just pop into the Waiting Room and ask our visitor very politely if she wouldn't mind re-absorbing her symptoms for half hour or so in order for Sam to walk out of here. Piece of cake!"

Shaking his head in exasperation at the stupidity of the woman, Al turned his attention back to Sam, who'd just about managed to extricate himself from the linen.

"Actually, Al," Cassie's voice joined the mix, "I think between you and Angelita, you may be onto something. David, where's Bena?"

**Project Headquarters**

**The Waiting Room**

"…So you see, Allie, unless we can find a way to help Sam, and quickly, your Dad and you – that is, Sam - will both die." Cassie had explained the situation as gently as she could, with help from Angelita and Verbena Beeks. Allie had taken it all in very calmly and rationally.

"What do you want me to do?" she now asked simply.

"Dr Koulianos thinks that if I can hypnotize you, we can get your mind to 'take back' for want of a better phrase, your symptoms. Then Sam will get his strength back. I know it is a lot to ask of you, but…"

"Please, let's do it." Allie sounded, if not enthusiastic, at least willing. "I always knew this reprieve wasn't going to last, as soon as I found out I wasn't dead. Tell your friend I'll do it for him, but I have one small condition…"

They could not afford to enter lengthy negotiations, and besides, Cassie was certain it wouldn't be one they couldn't honor.

"Name it." She encouraged.

"He has to save not only my father, but my necklace; the lopsided dolphin one. My Mum made it for me, and I couldn't bear to lose it now." As Allie said the words, she suddenly realized there was something else really precious to her, but she knew it was too much to ask for anything else. Her father was more important. 'Oh Isaiah, I'm so sorry my dear friend,' she whispered, a tear moistening her cheek.

"I'm sure he'll do his best." Bena assured her, nodding in the direction of Ziggy's security camera in silent command to pass the request on.

This seemed to satisfy the young girl, and she squared up to Bena, sitting cross-legged on the table/bed and shuffling a little 'til she was comfortable. Then she put her wrists on her knees as if she were about to meditate.

"Ready," she stated firmly.

Bena smiled, "Have you been hypnotized before?"

"Once," admitted Allie. "One of my docs thought it would 'shift all this nonsense about being ill out of my head once and for all' – I think that was how he put it."

"That obviously went according to plan!" Cassie laughed sarcastically, and Allie grinned.

"We'd best get started," she told them bravely.

**Meanwhile back in Broken Hill**

While the three ladies had been outlining the situation to Allie, Al and Sammi Jo had been exhorting Sam to head for the door. He was still groggy and slow to understand their instructions, and when he did register what was required, he belly-crawled and dragged himself with all the vigor of a melting glacier. He had covered barely a body length by the time Ziggy relayed the message about the dolphin trinket.

"I just hope their plan works," Sammi Jo breathed almost prayerfully, knowing Sam would otherwise perish for sure. The storm was getting louder and closer by the minute.

Looking around, her eyes soon alighted on the prize and she pointed to where the necklace had fallen. Luckily, being on the top of the tree it had fallen the furthest, and was not far to the side of where Sam now found himself. It was barely a detour for him to reach out and grab it.

Even so, since he was still sluggish and riddled with the symptoms of M.E., it took him anxiously long moments to retrieve it.

"Put it round your neck, Sam," Al advised him, "You don't want to drop it; there won't be time to go back." A loud clap of thunder echoed the sentiment.

Sam did as Al suggested.

Every time he faltered, which was after each small gain in ground, Al reminded Sam of the impending immolation that awaited him if he remained.

All pretense at being seated had been abandoned. David – otherwise known as 'Gushie' - was constantly reconfiguring to maintain the illusion that Al was being centered on Sam. Sammi-Jo was adjusting her stance to assist in the deception; no longer bothering to make sure she stayed out of sight. The leaper was too preoccupied to question what was happening in hologram land, and they needed to keep Sam focused on survival, not wondering why his personal pep squad kept vanishing from view.

Although Sam was beginning to understand the facts, it was still not enough motivation to overcome the obstacle of his fatigue. He wanted to get out; he just couldn't summon the energy or enthusiasm to actually move. He'd even given up complaining about how much he hurt and how tired he was. It took too much effort to think how to form the words, let alone vocalize them.

By dragging himself inch by hard won inch; Sam had just about made it to the doorway of the en suite when the lightening finally struck.

Though he was the only one physically present in the room, Sam was the least startled of the three who witnessed it.

It was certainly dramatic, and could have been fascinating if viewed dispassionately via the Discovery channel from the comfort and safety of one's couch.

The lightening struck the window frame and continued its inexorable path through the wall, looking for a place to ground itself. The bedsprings being the closest natural conductor, the charged arced across the gap and struck the bed, immediately igniting the bedding in a flash like a giant match striking on sandpaper. The curtains were likewise ablaze, marking the trail of the energy beam. The house being timber-framed, it very soon began to shed its skin.

They tried not to think about the flames that were starting to engulf the bed as they urged Sam to keep moving, while ‘Gushie’ sent a pre-prepared message to the Broken Hill fire station, posing as a neighbor.

Al had an idea. Banking on Cassie's plan working soon, so that Sam could make a dash for safety, he suggested that the leaper make a minor detour.

"Yes, Sam, that's right, into the bathroom." Sam was doing his best to comply. "That's it. Now, you gotta get the flannel… no, wait a second, a hand towel is better. Good, that one on the rail will do, get hold of it and soak it in water. Drench it thoroughly. It'll help protect you from the heat and smoke."

The problem with that part of the plan was that it entailed Sam hauling himself up far enough to grab the towel and turn on a tap. It felt like a Herculean task.

Sam grunted as he struggled to pull himself upright. His head soon began to swim and his breathing was as labored as his straining muscles. He wanted rest so desperately badly he'd almost be prepared to risk the fury of the flames, if only the nagging voices in his head would cease their constant haranguing.

"C'mon, Sam, we need to see some of that famous Beckett 'get up and go'," Al could have made a career out of motivational speaking after his years of helping to get Sam through the trials of leaping.

Sam gave him a 'you gotta be kidding' look. He coughed, his mouth closed, his chest heaving.

"And don't you dare go telling me it got up and went!" Al countered before Sam could say a word. He needn't have worried. Sam was saving what precious little energy he had for moving. Speech was a luxury he needed to dispense with.

Finally, after minutes that felt like hours, Sam had managed to knock the towel down from the rail and grab hold of it. He was sweating with the effort, and from the heat reaching him from the fire that had taken firm hold of the bedroom.

Sam was now leaning precariously on the sink, trying to guide his hand into making contact with the tap to turn it on. It should have been such a simple thing, but his befuddled brain was having trouble coordinating hand, eye and target, and his muscles were stubbornly refusing to react as they should.

All the while the thunderstorm crashed and flashed around the house to remind them of the danger, even as the flames devoured the many combustible items in the bedroom like a ravenous daemon, sampling each tasty morsel with tongues of flickering red and orange fire as it belched heat and smoke and noxious fumes.

"Hurry, Sam!" advised Al, bouncing impatiently on the balls on his feet. 'Hurry Cassie,' he added under his breath.

“Where the Hell is that fire truck?” Al asked the ether. Ziggy regretfully informed him that although the emergency had been acknowledged, a huge conflagration at the hotel across the other side of town had already demanded all available response teams. The estimated time for help to reach the Johnson’s was far too late for them to count on. The suggestion was made that the caller should do whatever they could to tackle the blaze without endangering themselves. Which didn’t help at all.

Al swore under his breath. How much more was going to conspire against them?

At last the towel was soaked. Sam had become much splashed in the process, but Al pointed out that was all to the good. If he thought they had the time, Al pondered aloud – hoping to be told they would have - he'd have suggested Sam getting into the shower and saturating himself thoroughly, clothes and all, but he was worried Sam would get trapped in there. Ziggy could not guarantee that Sam would regain his mobility in time, and therefore would not recommend the delay. She gave odds of 11.3 per cent that Sam could possibly survive in this manner, remaining huddled in the shower with water deluging him, but he would still suffer extensive burns, and it would be at the expense of Alan Johnson, who would surely perish.

The father had fallen into a deep sleep on the couch, and was even now starting to be overcome by the smoke that was rapidly filling the house. According to Angelita he would not awaken to the danger until it was far too late, at which point instead of saving himself, he would try to get upstairs to his daughter, and thence die in a vain attempt at rescuing her. Sam needed to get downstairs and alert him, so that they could both make their escape.

Now that Sam was more or less upright, he tried to walk back out of the en suite and toward the stairs. The problem was that his legs seemed incapable of supporting his weight and kept buckling beneath him. They grew heavier with each step, and every now and then his muscles would twitch and jump, so he moved like a marionette on tangled strings. Added to all this a sense of balance that would make the most haphazard drunk look like an accomplished tightrope walker, and a return to crawling soon started to look like the more sensible option. This was especially true by the time Sam had lurched to the top of the stairway, and there swayed precariously, looking as if he were about to descend by pitching headlong down the open wooden stairs. He could barely see them through the thick cloying smoke that enveloped him. The air would be cooler and cleaner near the floor too, since heat and smoke tend to rise.

"Careful Sam, you don't wanna end up with a broken hip like Abigail!" Al cautioned, his concern leading him to engage his mouth before putting his brain into gear. A strangled sob from Sammi-Jo alerted him to the folly of the comment.

Fortunately, Sam's brain fog seemed to have swallowed the reference in its murky depths, and he barely registered the name beyond a puzzled glance, which Al diverted by urging him to concentrate on getting safely down the stairs and waking Alan Johnson.

"Start calling him, Sam. If you can wake him up then maybe he can help you get out."

"Al-" Sam began, without much volume or enthusiasm. Opening his mouth exposed him to more of the overpowering smoke, and he coughed again.

"Call him 'Dad', Sam," recommended the hologram, "You're supposed to be his daughter, remember?"

"Da- huh? Daughter?" Somewhere in the deep recesses of the cotton candy that masqueraded as his cerebral cortex, Sam had a fleeting memory that he was father to a daughter. The wisp of a thought was gone before he could latch on to it.

"Dad! Help!" Sam yelled louder, though it was still somewhat muffled by the towel he held to his face.

" _Actually, it would be inadvisable to awaken Mr. Johnson at the present time."_ Ziggy cautioned. _"If he tries to come upstairs to assist, the odds are high that he will collapse on the steps thus preventing both parties from evacuating the building."_

Al sighed in frustration. It was about time they cut a break on this leap.

The flames had taken total hold of the entire upper storey now, and were literally in hot pursuit of the leaper on the landing. Memories of other fires returned as they had in Sam's nightmares, all the more real and terrifying now his conscious mind was absorbing them. Sam felt a tightening of his gut as the fear of the flames tried to consume him in advance of the inferno itself. Even as he teetered on the precipice he seemed momentarily rooted by the panic that was gripping him.

Al could see what was happening, and kept his voice as level as he could as he sought to reassure the leaper. "I know it's scary, Sam, but you can make it out of here, I know you can. Just focus on getting out. NO – don't turn around, don't look at the fire, it'll mesmerize you. Focus on the stairs Sam. You have to get safely down the stairs and rescue Alan."

"Al," Sam repeated. Again it was undefined to whom he was referring, but despite the rasping of his voice from the arid air, he said it clearer this time.

"Sit on the top step, Sam," Al urged him, "and shuffle down on your…"

"I get it, Al" Sam cut in, hiding his blushes behind the towel that he was trying to keep over his mouth to filter the smoke. After some fumbling he managed to fold it into a triangle and tie it around his face like a bandana. His head was starting to lose the brain fog, though the smoke all around him did nothing to aid clear thinking. He coughed. He could taste the smoke and the heat in the back of his throat. His eyes were stinging too.

The first two open steps were negotiated painfully slowly, feeling his way since visibility was at practically zero, but as he got further down, Sam's aching legs began to ease and his mobility improved. He found himself getting into a rhythm.

The smoke was less dense lower down too, though still bad enough to make Sam glad of the towel filter. The heat was already starting to dry it out, but he knew he would be in a worse state without it.

Sam made it to the bend in the stairs – he wasn't sure how, and resisted the urge to look back up to where the flames were licking at the wooden handrail. If he didn't get to the bottom quickly, the stairs would burn out from under him. Self-preservation was a catalyst to his recovery and he descended the lower half of the staircase rapidly, managing to haul himself to an upright position at the bottom. Sam could feel the heat penetrating the floorboards and rising up through the soles of his bare feet.

"Attaboy, Sam!" Al encouraged, as he had himself re-centered at the bottom of the stairs. "Now you're motoring. Looks like the plan's working!"

"Plan?" Sam was starting to think a bit clearer; he wasn't letting things in one ear and out the other any more.

"Yeah, Sam, we've bought you some time, Allie's let Bena hypnotize her, its broken the synergy so you're not feeling her symptoms for her. That's why you got the necklace, remember? You _are_ feeling better, aren't ya?" Al knew he shouldn't really be telling Sam all this, but it was quicker than trying to distract him from questioning it.

"Guess I am a bit," Sam acknowledged. He could feel his strength returning. There was no time for celebration though, nor for the wave of empathy that Sam felt for the courageous young lady who had volunteered to submit herself to a return of such horrendous symptoms in order to save him.

From where he now stood, Sam could just about see through the gathering smoke that Alan Johnson was still sleeping slumped on the couch where he'd nodded off while watching TV; supremely ignorant of the hazard facing them.

Even as he approached, Sam began calling the man, but like Al before him, he found the sleeper failed to react. Sam's voice was hoarse and he was finding it harder to breathe as the quality of the air declined rapidly. He found he was panting with the effort of walking, even though the crippling leg and back pains had all but vanished.

Nevertheless, Sam did not hesitate. He swiftly crossed to the couch and shook the sleeping form vigorously in an effort to wake him.

"Wake up, Dad!" he urged, coughing reflexively as he absorbed more noxious fumes. "Cmon, we gotta get outa here, you gotta wake up, **now,** " Sam echoed Al's earlier statements.

Alan Johnson barely stirred.

"What's wrong with him, Al?" Sam asked; his words punctuated with more coughing that made his chest feel tight and painful. "He doesn't have M.E. so what's his excuse?" Sam didn't mean to be unkind, but panic was starting to grip his innards again, exacerbating his rapid respiration. His fear was validated by a loud crash at the back of the room as the stairway and part of the ceiling collapsed, bringing down smoldering wreckage from the room above.

" _It would be reasonable to assume that the increasing density of the fumes in the house have in fact rendered Mr. Johnson unconscious. Smoke inhalation often leads to coma."_ Ziggy reminded the time traveling physician. _"If you do not wish to suffer the same fate, you need to get to a source of clean fresh air rapidly, Dr Beckett."_

"Agreed," Sam knew that he could not survive the contaminated atmosphere or the searing heat and destruction of the encroaching flames much longer, yet neither could Alan Johnson, "but I can't leave him here. I _have_ to find a way to get him out."

Though sharing Sam's alarm, and fully aware of the gravity of the situation, Al couldn't help but curl his lip in the merest hint of a smile. Sam was starting to sound like the old 'take charge and get the leap done' Sam he was used to, and Al was more than glad to hear it.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Twelve**

**Project Quantum Leap**

**Headquarters**

**The Waiting Room**

As the hypnosis took hold, Allie could feel her symptoms returning. Her legs started to tingle at first, then to ache. They soon became too painful to move, just as they had when she first became ill. "Growing pains" the doctor had told her. Since when did growing pains hurt so bad you couldn't get out of bed? Her glands were beginning to feel swollen and tender again. A huge part of her wanted to scream at them to stop, to restore her to the healthy state she had enjoyed for the past few days. She didn't want to admit it, but she was scared of feeling as bad as she'd been before she came to this strangely wonderful place. A black depression began to descend on her.

Very gently and carefully, she laid herself down on the bed and got into a comfortable position while she was still relatively mobile. The last thing she needed was an undignified crash to the floor.

She may wish it otherwise, but this was necessary. Her father's life depended on it, and that was motivation enough for Alabama Johnson. So she allowed herself one soft regretful sigh and submitted fully to the 'conditioning,' as she had come to think of it.

**Broken Hill**

Sam took a long hard look at the man mountain, and decided that even in his restored state, there was no way he could 'fireman's lift' the man over his shoulder and carry him out. He looked over and calculated the distance to the door. It may as well have been a mile away. Still, it had to be covered, and he would not go alone.

Though it would be hard work, Sam reasoned that getting the man on the floor would work in his favor. The air nearest the ground would be marginally more breathable for both of them. If the leaper was really lucky, it might even be enough to rouse the cataleptic carcass sufficiently that he could move under his own volition.

Sam was careful to push the coffee table back away from the couch before he attempted to move Mr. Johnson. Neither of them needed the added annoyance of splinters if he crashed on top of it. For a moment as he shifted it, Sam toyed with the idea of inverting it and using it as a sled to drag the man along, but decided it would simply add to the overall weight, and decrease maneuverability.

With a display of strength that could only have arisen from the adrenalin rush of his survival instinct, Sam reached across and rolled the gentle giant over, tipping him to the floor with only slightly more grace than his own exit from the bed.

Squaring his shoulders, Sam positioned himself behind Alan's head and squatted down, trying to keep his back straight as recommended when handling heavy weights. He wriggled his arms behind the man's back 'til he could bring them up under Alan's armpits and just about clasp his hands together around the huge chest.

As he did so, he noticed a burgeoning bruise on the man's forehead, surrounding a small cut; much like his own from the encounter with the sink. Alan's cut had already started to dry up and the bruise was too well developed to be the result of Sam having tipped him off the couch.

"I disagree with the smoke coma theory, Zig," Dr Beckett offered in a gravelly voice. He nodded to the wound, mentally did the detective work and summarized, "Looks like he heard me call, got up suddenly and tripped, hitting his head on the table. Probably collapsed to the floor, tried to get up to get to his daughter and fell back onto the couch, passing out from concussion."

" _I concur with your diagnosis, Dr. Beckett."_ Ziggy may not have established historical facts to call upon, but her databanks had enough scenarios in them for her to offer a reasonable hypothesis. " _Mr. Johnson is used to being roused to assist his daughter. The smell of fire would no doubt have alarmed him, and in his haste he lost his footing. Determination would have made him arise from his tumble, whereupon dizziness from the injury would caused him to either sit or fall back onto the couch. To anticipate your next thought, I believe that it will be significantly less detrimental to his health to move him than to leave him where he is. Once out of the danger area, early application of a neck brace would be advisable to minimize further potential damage."_

Taking a deep breath that he instantly regretted due to the coughing fit it brought on, Sam yanked with all his might and shifted the insensible form into a more upright position.

Still the big man showed not the slightest sign of waking up.

With a quick glance over his shoulder to fix in his mind where he was headed, Sam began dragging the dead weight that was Alan Johnson toward the door and safety.

The first three heaves went well; Sam seemed to be making good time and fair distance, but the fourth was distracted by more falling debris, much closer this time, and Sam stumbled, falling backwards. The temptation was great to stay there, where the air was not quite so thick with the choking smoke, and he could rest from the strain of his labors. His throat felt constricted, his eyes stung, and his whole face felt puffy. The physician in him recognized the onset of symptoms of smoke inhalation. He needed to get out quickly.

For some strange reason Sam found himself comparing the situation with a lifeguard pulling in a drowning victim against a rip-tide. Only that would have been far easier since the water would have leant buoyancy to the massive man in his arms. As it was, he felt like he was trying to swim through molasses; hot molasses. Sweat poured off his forehead and stung his smoke filled eyes. He paused to wipe it away with his pajama sleeve.

The M.E. may have left Sam, but now the fire and the efforts of moving the sack of coals at his feet were mimicking the symptoms he had so recently been relieved of. Lack of oxygen was leading to confusion and difficulty in concentration in addition to the difficulty in merely breathing. Trying to move such a heavy burden was causing muscles to tense and ache. Exhaustion was rapidly catching up with him again.

Even in the few places not yet ravaged by the inferno, the walls were blistering with the intense heat. Time was running out on cheetah's legs.

Al and Sammi-Jo had been eating up power trying to keep Al centered on Sam, and now the Observer was afraid he was going to fade out just when Sam needed him most.

"Sam!" Al yelled, alarmed to see his friend faltering. "Get up, Sam, you can't give up now, you're nearly there!" His own voice was hoarse with repressed emotion.

"Oh, Lord, you **have** to get my Daddy out of there." Sammi-Jo pleaded.

In Sam's fume-bound brain, it seemed to him that what he heard was the voice of the leapee inside his head, begging for Sam to rescue Alan Johnson. He'd made a bargain – Allie would suffer the crippling, devastating illness again, on condition **he** used his restored strength to save her father's life. It was not a deal he planned to renege on.

Getting a firm grip on Alan once more, Sam began tugging on him, dragging him backwards with a grunt and groan, his watery eyes reflecting how the toil was taking its toll. Every wheezing, rasping breath now seemed to alternate with a cough.

"Just a couple more feet, Sam, and you'll be at the door," encouraged Al, seeing Sam flagging yet again – and who could blame him. "Think of it, buddy, all that glorious fresh clean air!"

Sam thought of it. When asphyxiation seemed imminent, and almost inevitable, the thought of breathable air was all he needed to give him that last push onward, lugging Alan along with him.

"That's it, Sam! You can do it, buddy, come on!" Al kept trying to buoy Sam up, desperate to get his friend out to safety before he vanished. He could already see what Sam could not discern through the smoke - the signal was weakening.

"Nearly there, Sam, keep going," Al egged him on again, then suddenly, "Whoa, pal, hang on a second, stop there!" he warned.

Sam was puzzled, yet grateful for a moment's respite from his labors. He ceased his forward momentum and waited for instructions. His hand went instinctively to his chest, which was even tighter and more painful when he tried to breathe and coughed instead.

"The door opens inwards Sam," explained Al, "You have to get it open before you go any further, or that bulk you're hauling will block it for sure. You'll be trapped!"

Nodding at his friend's sagacity, Sam scrambled away from the still unconscious form and pulled himself upright to reach the door handle. His own head swam with dizziness and he stumbled into the door, praying that it wasn't locked for the night.

Sam swung himself around to lean on the wall so as to give the door space to open and lessen the risk of it knocking him to the ground when it did so. Then he reached over to grab the handle.

"Wait!" Al halted him again, his hand an inch away.

"Need… to… hurry," rasped Sam, about to complete his move.

"Sam!" Al's tone was enough to make him pause again. "Think, buddy, the handle is metal, it's bound to be red-hot by now, it'll burn you. Pad your hand with something."

Al's image was getting harder to see. Between the stinging of his eyes from the heat and smoke, and the still bothersome black eye, and the fading of the signal from power-drain, it was a wonder he could detect his pal at all. The sound quality was like that of a crackly old 78rpm Vinyl recording too, but Sam got the idea behind the message.

Not wanting to concede an inch of ground so hard won to search out a suitable alternative; Sam pulled the towel from around his face and wrapped it around his hand. It was barely damp by now, yet it steamed when he grabbed the handle, corroborating Al's caution.

Sam yanked the door open and swiftly returned to his burden. He was fortunate that being summer in those parts the house had open windows both upstairs and down and therefore the inferno had plenty of oxygen to fuel it. Whilst this had increased the speed with which the original blaze took hold and had seemed like a bad thing, it now meant that the situation had not been created whereupon the opening of the door caused a backdraft, which could have blown them both to Kingdom Come.

This time, Sam didn't delay by clasping the man round the chest. In any case, he wasn't sure he still had the energy to heave him in this manner. They were nearly out, and every second counted. So Sam grabbed the man by the wrists, using the strong hold he'd learned as a trapeze artist. Pulling Alan's arms up over his head, Sam dragged him toward the open door and safety.

They had barely made it a few feet down the concrete pathway when the timber framed house with pine-paneled walls and polished wooden floors collapsed in upon itself, becoming barely recognizable as the domicile it had so recently been. It hadn't really stood a snowball's chance against the insatiable appetite of the fire. A virtual tinderbox, it had become so eaten up by flames that it had given up the fight altogether.

At the same time, the power finally fizzled out and Al's image vanished from the scene, along with Sammi-Jo's.

Sam didn't notice. He was too busy struggling to suck in a huge lungful of clean clear air. Before he could accomplish this, he lost consciousness.

**QL HQ**

**The Waiting Room**

Allie's condition had steadily worsened as Sam's improved. Like a new mother after a difficult labor, she had soon forgotten quite how awful it was possible to feel, but now she was being all too painfully reminded.

By the time Sam was trying to wake her father, she was hovering between sleep and wakefulness, aching far too much to relax into slumber, and too lethargic to seek a more comfortable position. She somehow recalled through the fog how her father had told her about a really old country song that sort of described her condition. He would sing it to her to tease her, but she didn't mind. She thought it was funny:

" _The sun comes up and the sun goes down,_

_The hands on the clock keep going round,_

_I just get up and it's time to lay down,_

_Life gets tedious, don't it?_

_My shoes untied but I don't care,_

_I wasn't figuring on going nowhere,_

_I'd have to wash and comb my hair,_

_And that's just wasted effort._

_Hound dog's howling all forlorn,_

_Laziest hound dog ever was born._

_He's a-howling cause he's sittin' on a thorn_

_Just too darn lazy to move over."_

There were other verses, but they were less relevant, and she couldn't remember how they went.

She was actually surprised she'd remembered that much. The more she tried to think about it, the less of anything Allie could remember. Frustration moved in to keep company with the aching and depression.

All too quickly her higher brain functions seemed to switch off, the dense brain fog closed in, muddling her thoughts. Soon, she couldn't remember where she was, or who these strange people were, or what was going on. She could only think that she was exhausted and wanted to sleep…

Then just as suddenly came the moment that Sam - finally free of the burning building – had passed out. In that instant, the M.E left her once again and Allie felt whole and healthy. She sat up and drew in the deep breath Sam had been denied.

"Oh, boy!" she exclaimed, feeling like dancing again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Broken Hill Hospital**

**Monday 17th February**

**11.11am local**

Two hazy figures stood either side of the hospital bed in 'the unit' as staff affectionately called the ICU, looking down on the sleeping form like a pair of guardian angels. They were even in an attitude of prayer, their heads bowed, and hands together.

" _There is absolutely no point or justification whatsoever in consuming such vast amounts of energy in keeping you here, Admiral."_ Ziggy stated coldly. " _Dr Beckett has been heavily sedated and will certainly not awaken for several more hours yet."_

"I should never have listened." Al muttered, his voice laden with frustration and guilt in equal measure. Not for the first time he attested, "I should have been on the first plane out as soon as I knew Sam was in real time. I **knew** it was the best idea. Then I'd have been there and I coulda pulled him outa that house myself before the fire took hold."

" _This is not the time nor especially the place to debate the issue, Admiral."_ Ziggy reiterated. _"I assure you I will notify you the moment Dr Beckett regains consciousness, but unless you now sever connectivity **instantaneously** I cannot guarantee the power will be available to re-connect you at that time."_

The threat was enough for Al to concede, and the images of himself and Sammi-Jo faded from the hospital room.

On some deep subliminal level, Sam would be able to tell later that his friend had been there, though he'd had no awareness of anything else for the past few hours.

As soon as the medics had reached him – the neighbors had finally roused and called ‘again’ for fire and ambulance services that were eventually spared – they had recognized the need to sedate Sam in order to intubate him. He was showing classic signs of severe smoke inhalation – including soot in the nasal cavity – and it was clear that the various compounds that had been created in the combustion of the house contents had acutely irritated his respiratory tract. There were indications of inflammation, airway collapse and respiratory distress. In other words, Sam was not doing so well at breathing on his own.

Fortunately, though from their perspective they were working on a teenage girl, the medical team had successfully inserted a tube past his vocal chords and down his throat, keeping his airways from swelling shut.

Sam lay now with the breathing tube held securely to his upper jaw with tape, through which he was being supplied with pure oxygen by a connecting flexible tube, and a nasogastric tube was feeding him. An intravenous cannula in the back of his hand allowed the periodic withdrawal of blood samples for testing count and chemistry. A light probe was attached to his finger to determine the degree of oxygen in his blood.

Wires attached to his chest hooked up to machines that monitored his vital signs and beeped and ticked reassuringly.

He'd had two chest x-rays already, the second to determine if delayed lung injury had occurred.

None of this had registered with the sedated scientist.

Having eavesdropped on the doctors and nurses who had treated Sam upon his first arrival, Al had learned that his friend was in a critical condition, and it had been touch and go for a time. Al had alternated between cursing and railing at the circumstances that had brought Sam to this state, and begging, pleading and bargaining for the restoration of his friend's life and health.

The comment had been made that smoke inhalation claimed the lives of significantly more fire victims than burns. Al didn't care about the statistics, he just prayed that Sam wasn't about to become one.

Al fretted as his signal faded in and out, necessitating the breaking and re-establishing of the link several times over the past eight hours or so. Despite protestations from Ziggy that they were in imminent danger of blacking out the whole of New Mexico, Al refused to leave his friend a moment longer than necessary while he was in mortal danger. A hazy signal, he maintained, was better than no signal at all. He'd rather face the wrath of Weitzman and the committee, and the entire population of the State if need be, than fail to be there for Sam when his friend needed him. He'd do anything and everything in his power to find a way to help keep Sam alive, and should the unthinkable happen, he'd be there with his friend at the end no matter what. Weighed against that, to Al's mind a Nation-wide power outage would be acceptable in terms of collateral damage. Heck, he'd extinguish every star in the heavens if that were what it took.

Mercifully the medics had worked their magic well, so that by the time Ziggy delivered her ultimatum, the diagnosis was that the patient was out of danger, though still in an extremely serious condition.

The resurgence of the M.E was taking its toll on an already critical patient. It was therefore felt that enforced rest through sedation would give the individual the best chance of recovery, allowing time for natural healing processes to kick in and assist the medical procedures in repairing the damaged body.

As for the girl's father, he was faring much better. Smoke inhalation had certainly been a factor, but not to the same degree by any means. He had a few bruises, and a nasty bump on his head that had led to a concussion. Other than that, he'd got off pretty lightly.

Alan was breathing through an oxygen mask, but at least he was successfully breathing for himself. His vital signs were remarkably strong. Obviously being built like an ox had stood him in good stead. He'd had the mother of all headaches when he woke up, and a hacking cough that would need looking after, but the prognosis was excellent for a full recovery in a relatively short time.

He had nagged to be allowed to go and see his daughter, refusing to take no for an answer, but the short wheelchair ride and subsequent distress at seeing her pale frail body clinging so precariously to life had soon exhausted him. Now he too was under compulsory bed-rest.

Praised for his courage in getting them both out of the burning building, Alan Johnson had been baffled. It wasn't he who had rescued them, he maintained, and assumed some neighbor had rushed in and saved them. Nothing else made any sense.

Nevertheless, he was informed, by the time the neighbors had woken up to the fact that there was a problem; they had rushed over to find both the Johnsons unconscious on the pathway in front of the remains of their house. It made his head hurt too much to try to fathom it out, so Alan just accepted gratefully the fact that they were both alive.

**Al and Tina's hotel room**

**Washington**

Unable to stay with Sam, Al continued his worrying in the opulent surroundings of his hotel room. He had taken up his usual pattern of pacing – four paces, turn, four paces back. He checked his watch three or four times a minute, and on each circuit he looked from his laptop to his handlink for any sign of a message that Sam's condition had improved, and his consciousness been re-established.

Tina tried to calm him, to reassure him and finally to distract him - all to no avail. She was worried about Sam too, but realized the futility of fretting yourself into a state of ill health. Al would be no use to Sam if he gave himself a heart attack, and she told him so.

Still not even her most amorous advances could divert Al from his sentry duty, and Tina was at her wit's end.

Thankfully David finally came through with some news that deflected Al's attention from the interminable wait.

"…Everything is set up and working perfectly, and they've all nine responded to their invitations affirmatively, despite the short notice. The last one should be at the hotel within ten minutes. The 'welcoming committee' is already there." The Chief Programmer informed him; satisfied he had attended to every detail of Al's plan with his usual efficiency. Knowing the reason behind the scheme, David was glad to have been able to help.

"Good work, keep me posted," Al acknowledged.

His main priority remained his best friend, naturally, but the imminent exacting of retribution on Sammi-Jo's attackers was enough to raise Al's spirits a couple of notches.

**Chicago**

**Hotel Orrington**

**Sunday 16th February**

**7.43pm local**

Simon Fosse paid off his cab and hesitantly entered the hotel via the pillared porch way that looked like it belonged more to a Greek temple. Though the main body of the hotel was ultra modern, it kept the cultured theme with an ornate ceiling, uniquely designed vases and a dramatic mosaic near the entryway.

Simon was not used to such sumptuousness. Even as he admired it, he couldn't help a renewed sense of unease. He'd not kept in touch with any of his college 'buddies', and had nothing but bad memories of that whole period of his life. Yet the wording of the invitation to a Sigma Epsilon Sigma Class of '88 reunion party was too intriguing to ignore. He'd debated with himself for some time whether or not he should go, but in the end curiosity overcame caution. He decided he might as well go along and see what it was all about, and if it got awkward, he figured he could always leave. He figured wrong, of course, because he figured without Admiral Albert Calavicci in the equation.

It was with some trepidation that he approached the beautiful young lady with the yellow rose in her hair who was standing in the lobby obviously looking for someone. It was the rose that told him she was his contact – like this was some sort of spy thriller. He knew he was no James Bond, but the notion was cool all the same.

She was a stunner he had to admit, petite and slender, with curves in all the right places. She was either very well tanned, or from some exotic race. Her jet-black hair, which flowed down her back and right down to her knees, suggested Asian or European - Spanish or Italian perhaps. Geography wasn't exactly his strong suit.

She extended a well-manicured hand toward him, which he took and kissed gallantly.

"Welcome, you must be Mr. Fosse," she intoned, her voice soft and melodious, "I am Miliani," she then added, whispering in his ear, "which means 'gentle caress' in my native Hawaiian." She gave him the most seductive wink he'd ever seen. Perhaps this evening would turn out to be a worthwhile one after all.

"Please, call me Simon," he returned, matching her smile, as she slipped her arm in his and led him through to the hotel bar.

Those already there didn't notice him at first. They all had drinks in their hands and beautiful women on their arms. Sounds of good-natured banter and laughter drifted across the room. The party had started without him.

By the time Miliani had asked him what he wanted and caught the bartender's eye, one of the assembled men had spotted him.

"Hey, if it isn't old Fussy, unless my eyes deceive me!" he clapped Simon on the shoulder and laughed heartily. Having been the first to arrive, he was on his second drink already, and though not yet drunk, he was certainly relaxed.

Simon had hoped that his nickname would have been forgotten in the years they had been apart, but as ill luck would have it, the first person to address him was the one who'd given him the annoying appellation.

Roger Atkinson had been his roommate in college, and the tag had first come from a misreading of his name. That happened a lot. He'd lost count of the times he'd explained, "It may be spelled Fosse, but it's pronounced Foss like in Boss." All through his school days, and college days, and even at work it had been the same. He'd had mail addressed to Fossy, Posse, Mossy, Loose, Noose, Ross, and countless other variations over the years. He'd even thought of changing his name on more than one occasion.

Unfortunately for Simon, his explanation had not stopped Roger from continuing to use "Fussy", claiming it suited his roommate's nature. Roger was haphazard to the point where his side of the room looked like a tornado had hit it. Simon, on the other hand, was meticulous in his tidiness. He supposed it stemmed from his parents both being in the military; a career they had hoped he'd adopt for himself.

Another of the many reasons they were disappointed in him.

Pulled from his reminiscences by Atkinson thrusting his beer into his hand, he offered a feeble half smile of acknowledgement.

"Good to see you again, Roger." Simon used his given name, stopping himself from using the nickname Atkinson had been given by the brotherhood – "Rat King" – and trying to keep the sarcasm from his tone. Simon was again thinking that it had been a mistake to come tonight. If only he could have convinced himself that he had something better to do.

Roger pressed him into renewing acquaintanceship with the rest of the group, "The gang's all here!" he exclaimed cheerily, avoiding any reference to the one member who had not been with them for years. Trent Mortimer III was _never_ mentioned, by order of Chapter President Taylor.

For the next hour or so, the Sigma Epsilon Sigma boys and their female companions enjoyed the buffet that the hotel had laid on, and more than their share of drinks. They were well beyond merry when Lexa, the oldest of the ladies and obviously the one in charge of the arrangements, informed the gathering that they were adjourning to a new location - by way of waiting limousines - where the entertainment would _really_ begin! Though all respectably dressed for the hotel, the ladies had left their escorts in little doubt as to why they had come to the party.

"Man, Taylor, you sure know how to throw a party!" one Woody Elliott raised his glass to the President, who returned the toast good-naturedly, though he hadn't heard what Elliott said above the excited chatter of the group. Had he caught the comment, he would have been bemused by it, for although each of the Class of '88 had received invitations which appeared to have come from him, his own implied that someone else had arranged the gathering, and he was the guest of honor.

Not that anyone was questioning the reunion by now; they were having too good a time, even Simon Fosse who was quite smitten with Miliani. The girls led them out to the luxury limousines like lambs to the slaughter, ignorant - though not innocent - of what was to befall them.

**Broken Hill Hospital**

Vague awareness returned to Sam inasmuch as he felt as if something were choking him; as if he'd swallowed a peppermint candy whole and it had lodged in his throat. He gagged.

"Don't fight it, Miss Johnson, the tube is there to help you breathe." He could barely make out the words, as if he were at the end of a long distance telephone line.

He felt soothing hands restraining him.

"Relax, Sam, take it easy buddy." Al's voice came reassuringly through the ether, though it too sounded distant and distorted.

Sam did as he was bid and tried not to struggle, but the choking feeling persisted. His throat went reflexively into spasm. He felt his chest heaving and he was coughing but it was as if he was far off too, and all this was happening to someone else.

The kindly nurse called for reinforcements, which were instantly forthcoming.

"She shouldn't have woken yet," the doctor observed, "she's had enough sedatives in her to tranquilize a horse. With her size and body weight I daren't give her any more."

"It's lucky it was time for her obs," the nurse concurred, trying to hold the patient's head still.

"What is it? What's happening? What's wrong?" Al fretted. The medics couldn't hear him, but Ziggy could, and he needed answers. Present time or not, the computer should be able to let him know what was going on.

"We'd better extubate, stat." commanded the doctor, "but I want her watched closely. Chances are we'll have to re-intubate, unfortunately."

With practiced efficiency the team soon had the patient immobilized, the oxygen supply was disconnected and the breathing tube was gently drawn out. Even so, it felt to Sam as if he were vomiting jagged rocks.

"Oxygen mask." Doctor Tomalin ordered authoritatively as the barely semi-conscious patient gasped and wheezed and coughed - trying to breathe and finding it was the hardest thing in the world to do.

"Gently does it," intoned the nurse, applying the breathing aid, "nice natural breaths now, come on, that's it."

Little by little, Sam attained a rhythm to his breathing, and the pain – which felt like his windpipe was being scrubbed and scoured out with a wire-brush - subsided. Soothed by the comforting voice of the nurse, who sounded remarkably like his mother to the still fuzzy brained time traveler, Sam drifted back to a more natural sleep.

The brief link with Broken Hill was again severed, and Al found himself looking at Sammi-Jo across his web link.

"Would somebody mind telling me what-the-hell just happened?" he demanded, "Is Sam ok or not?"

" _As agreed, when I detected that Dr Beckett was no longer comatose, I initiated a link with his location. Since his conscious state was short-lived, I have severed the link until such time as he re-awakens to conserve power." Ziggy_ informed the Admiral, with a hint of impatience in her mechanical voice, as if explaining something to a tiresome child.

"Yes, yes, that much I worked out for myself." Al returned irritably. "Why'd he look so distressed?"

" _The level of sedative administered had been calculated for Alabama Johnson, a 61" tall teenage girl weighing 83.2 lbs. Since Dr Beckett is taller and heavier, it did not last as long as anticipated. Dr Beckett did not fully regain consciousness, probably because he is frail from the effects of the M.E. However, he awoke sufficiently to become cognizant of the presence of what his brain interpreted as a foreign object in his esophagus – to whit the breathing tube. This caused a choking reflex as his body tried to expel the blockage. The doctor wisely removed the object before Dr Beckett could seriously injure himself, and for the moment he appears to be successfully breathing on his own. Constant supervision has been ordered for the next few hours, since in these cases the patient often needs to be re-intubated. This can be due to a number of potential problems, such as difficulty in breathing independently, the need to suction off mucus, or to prevent the patient from breathing the contents of their stomach."_

"Euwwwww! Too **much** information there, Zig." Al complained, looking a little green at the very idea that such a thing could be possible.

" _You **did** request to be informed…" _began the computer, but Al reached forward and disconnected the web-link to shut her up. He'd heard more than enough of that yucky stuff. He shuddered, and prayed that Sam would be spared such an experience.

Before Al could dwell on it for too long, David informed him of the frat boys' change of venue. The time for their ultimate 'hazing' was fast approaching.

Al was glad now that Sam had so quickly gone back to sleep - both for the fact that it would probably speed his recovery in the long term, and in that it left him without a conflict of interest and free to play his part in their downfall.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Fourteen**

**(Warning, contains adult language and themes)**

**Chicago**

Before any of them had the slightest inkling how it came about, the eight ex-frat boys and their erstwhile Chapter President found themselves in an attic room, stripped naked and loosely chained to a row of iron-framed beds arranged in an arc, enjoying the 'attention' of the now scantily clad ladies of the night. They were not in the least alarmed at being restrained thus, for they were being very well treated – for the time being. Most of them found it _very_ exciting.

The women knew their parts, and were playing them to perfection. They prided themselves on their professional expertise, knowing all the ways to get a man aroused and eager, how to toy and tease and tempt and prolong the pleasure. Of course, the outcome was usually far different from that which would ensue tonight. Tonight, instead of satisfied customers, _they_ would have the satisfaction of seeing the guilty at least in part punished.

When Lexa had told them the purpose of this little party, and what these men had done in their youth to an innocent virgin, all eleven of her girls had wanted a piece of the action. They had catered to all sorts of perversions between them, and thought themselves unshockable. Yet every act they had engaged in was by their choice and mutual consent. The things these monsters had forced upon Sammi-Jo were not to be tolerated, and the women had unanimously insisted on waiving any fee for giving the Class of '88 'exactly what they deserve.'

In the limos they had broken out the champagne, and now several more bottles were lifted from the ice buckets on the table in the center of the room, their contents being drizzled over bare chests and other parts of the anatomy, the chilled liquid stimulating the flesh to tingling pleasure.

On the third bed down from the door, Araminta, known as Minty, was sucking at the champagne flavored nipple of Pierce Sinclair, nicknamed 'Sinbad' even though he suffered terribly with 'mal de mer.' He wasn't suffering now; he was enjoying every second. Minty's voluptuous bosom oozed over the top of her see-through black basque, trimmed with pale green lace and matching satin ribbons, as were the garters on her fishnet stockings. Her shoulder length black hair was highlighted with thick peppermint streaks, like some sort of weird Goth toothpaste. Her eyes were the color of jade, and Pierce was lost in them.

On Sinbad's left, Elvett Foxx was also getting the champagne bed-bath, but it was Aimee and Desiree, identical twins with deep brown, almost mahogany hair that framed their faces in thick-bodied identical styles, who supplied his soaking. They worked their way up his glistening ebony torso with identical strokes of their tongues, making him shudder with delight. The 'Velvet Fox' had scored again. A double!

Further down the row, Damian Sandoval, jokingly referred to as Dame O by his fraternity brothers, was in the care of the titian haired Yolanda. "They call me 'Lolly'," she had told him in sultry tones, punctuated with a wicked grin, "because I'm addicted to sucking on popsicles!" After which she said very little, her mouth being full of his personal jumbo sized champagne flavored Popsicle. Damian moaned softly with pleasure. She was just what this Doctor ordered.

At the far end, "144", or - as he was christened by his parents - Chester Grossman, was reveling in a floor show, or more accurately a show at the foot of his bed. Zizi, a flaxen-headed beauty, was trickling champagne over the bare breasts of 'Diamond' - ditzy but with a drop-dead gorgeous figure beneath her peroxide blonde tresses. When Chester had complained that Diamonds were normally a _girl's_ best friend, she had let out a shrill little giggle, and began playing with Zizi most provocatively. Being 'friends' with the girls, she explained, often led to being a more satisfying lover with the boys. He had to admit the girl-on-girl action was a thrill he'd not experienced before, and he was happy to postpone the personal touch of the pair in favor of watching the overtly erotic overture a while longer.

In between these 'bubbly' hedonists, the others were discovering different ways to have fun.

Simon was finding that Miliani had some very inventive ways of 'gently caressing' all sorts of interesting parts of his anatomy, some of them with her long flowing hair.

Randy Jacobs had the honor of receiving Lexa's more 'mature' ministrations. Over the years spent in her chosen profession, she had learned some _very_ tantalizing techniques.

The oldest of the men, Chapter President Vincent Taylor, was putty in the hands of a flaming ginger redhead with a thick Russian accent and a dramatic dragon tattoo. This was Anastasia, also known as 'Tasty', a dominatrix whose tongue could be a more powerful weapon than any whip ever made. When she snapped "Attention!" he made sure to present his weapon, rigid and ready for action.

The Rat King was nibbling at the chocolate earlobe of Brandy, a buxom beauty who was as warm and intoxicating as her name suggested, and as well rounded as a brandy glass. He liked a woman who was a good handful. Her wiry black hair was tinged with several shades of brown, plaited in dozens of tiny plaits and decorated with tiny wooden beads.

The last of the men, Woody Elliott, was in the capable hands of Roxanne - 'call me Roxy' - whose pale complexion was in stark contrast to the deep ruby red of her dyed hair. Since **all** her hair was similarly dyed, it was impossible to tell what her natural color was. She was doing such outrageous things with handfuls of crushed ice from the champagne bucket that he was singing like a soprano auditioning for the theatre that shared her name. Not that he was complaining. It was most – invigorating.

The final hooker, Bambi - a cute little wisp of a thing with light brown hair bound up in two high pony-tails over her ears - was gamboling along the line, lending her own special touch to the proceedings here and there as she saw fit. Every once in a while the 'spare' would switch places with one of the other girls so that there was always variety in the proceedings.

Even though all the men had consumed enough alcohol to relax their defenses and willingly allow themselves to be lured into bondage, they were not so far drunk that they were beyond expectations of enjoying the consummation of the evening's revels. They were eagerly looking forward to the imminent gratification of their desires, confident in their readiness and capacity to perform.

In fact by the time Bambi – the youngest – had taken Lexa's place with Randy, it was fair to say that the stirrings in their loins had become full-blown raging urges. They were all well up for it and starting to get impatient for satisfaction.

This was the moment Lexa had been waiting for. Their marks were thoroughly primed and ready for the sting. Time to hustle as they had never hustled before.

The room had been prepared with all manner of electrical equipment, to which the men had heretofore paid little attention. Miniature cameras were trained on each bed, and microphones tuned to pick up their every word. Less subtle was a huge television screen - such as would be found in a state-of-the-art home movie kit – carefully angled and high enough to afford each of the men a perfect view of the display.

Lexa reached up and switched on the monitor, though initially just to standby mode.

**Washington**

**Al's hotel room**

"Admiral?" David gently drew Al's attention back to his web conferencing equipment and away from his fretful pacing.

"What is it?" Al was there in one huge stride, "Is it Sam? Is he okay? Is he awake?" He reached for his handlink, readying himself for another holographic hook up.

"Relax, Admiral," David advised calmly. "Dr Beckett is still sleeping. I just thought you'd like to know – it's time. Lexa has initiated the link."

"Great!" Al sat himself down, more than ready to play his part in these proceedings. "But I still want to know the _instant_ Sam wakes, no matter what." He instructed firmly.

"Of course."

**Chicago/Washington**

Lexa flicked the monitor to life. Her unusual activities finally attracted the attention of one of the men.

"Porno movies too! Wow this party just keeps getting better and better," Elliott enthused. He was practically salivating at the prospect.

That got them all looking at the screen. Perfect.

Instead of the salacious material they were anticipating, Al's face had appeared.

"Sorry, _gentlemen_ ," he announced, giving the word a sarcastic edge, "the party's over for you."

As if troops receiving new orders from their commanding officer the women all instantly ceased their favors.

Al smiled in satisfaction at the predicament the group found themselves in. The obvious disappointment on their faces that the fun had ceased just at the crucial moment was as pleasing to him as it was frustrating to them.

There was a general hubbub of "What d'you mean?" "What's he talking about?" "What's going on?" "Who the hell is he?" and similar questions all posed at once, accompanied by a sudden realization that they were in fact captives, resulting in struggles against their chains. It was safe to say they were rapidly moving from arousal to alarm.

At this stage it only occurred to one single individual among them that this was karma for their sin of so long ago. In some perverse way, Simon Fosse was almost glad to be facing his daemon at last and paying for his crime.

It was not long before Al put the rest of them in the picture as to exactly why they found themselves in their current predicament. He made it clear that he knew unequivocally that they were guilty as sin, and he knew _precisely_ what each and every one of them was guilty of. He did not tell them _how_ he knew, but it was not difficult to guess. The bitch had finally blabbed – in graphic detail.

Most of them had not even thought of that night in many years. Now, suddenly, looking at their surroundings, it was as if they were transported back there and reliving it vividly, but from the other side of the coin.

Vincent Taylor tried to protest. He had not laid hands on any girl he attested, and nobody could say he had. He'd not even been in the room when the activities the stranger described had allegedly taken place. The others nodded in loyal agreement, obedient to their Chapter President as ever.

"Technically true, maybe," conceded the Admiral, "yet in some ways **you** are the _most_ culpable of all, Taylor."

Vin opened his mouth in dissent, but no sound came out.

"The _idea_ was yours, the **command** was yours," pressed Al, staring hard into Taylor's eyes down the video link, defying him to deny it. "I doubt any of these punks would have had the gumption to set it up on their own. NO, Taylor, it was at **your** instigation, and so you must share the blame."

As Al had been cataloguing their crimes, the women had moved away from the prisoners and congregated by the door, dressing themselves once more in their evening gowns, covering their 'working clothes.'

"So what happens now? I suppose we have to agree to sign a confession in order to be set free?" Jacobs guessed; rattling the chains that kept him bound to the bed.

"I know one of you is a lawyer, so I have no intention of forcing any of you to put your names to any confessions." Al explained patiently, "You would just have them thrown out as inadmissible by reason of having been signed under duress." Ziggy had already cautioned him regarding this outcome.

"What then?" snapped Elliott, "Why bring us here if you ain't gonna make us confess?" He too struggled with his restraints. Each man had broad iron shackles round his ankles and wrists, which held long chains welded to the four corners of his bed. They had enough slack to allow the arms to be raised or lowered a reasonable degree, and the legs to be bent or straightened without undue discomfort. There was insufficient latitude to allow them to stand or move from their bed, and escape was completely out of the question.

Al didn't answer immediately. Let them sweat. And they were.

"What **do** you want from us?" at least Fosse had the decency to sound subdued, maybe even a little scared.

"If I'm honest, I'd **like** to make eunuchs of the lot of you, so you bastards never take advantage of - no make that _brutalize_ \- another woman again." Al spat the words venomously. He'd thought of all sorts of things he'd like to do in retribution for the things they'd subjected Sammi-Jo to, and rejected most of them as going too far. He knew Sam would not approve of him crossing that line, and he would have to live with himself afterward, no matter how much they deserved it. Even long distance, he could see Fosse blanch at the idea. "But that would make me as bad as all of you, now wouldn't it?"

"Hey, chill man," Elliott swallowed hard, despite his bravado, "we were just a bunch of guys, having a good time, messing around, y'know? So we got a bit carried away… You look like a man of the world, don't tell me you haven't had more than your share of skirt back in the day…"

Al wished he could reach down the wires and deck the creep. He settled for slamming his fist on his desk, which, he was pleased to see, was loud enough to make at least three of the captives flinch where they lay.

"I may well have 'had more than my share of skirt,' as you so eloquently put it, Elliott, but never once without the _express_ _permission_ of the young lady in question." Al was incensed at the very thought. He was starting to wonder if perhaps a more severe punishment would be in order after all. Apart from Fosse, not one of them had shown any remote signs of remorse at all.

"Blackmail," suggested ex Chapter President Taylor, "I bet that's it!"

"Nothing so crude," contradicted Al. "No amount of money could compensate for what you took from that young lady that night. I bet you don't even remember her name, do you? Any of you?" He challenged them, his tone harsh. Al's eyes scanned the room through the cameras, and saw his answer in their eyes.

"Uh, it was something like Sarah-Jayne weren't it?" offered Atkinson, "Yeah. Like the one in Dr Who!" He looked pleased with himself for remembering, for proving the old fool wrong. He got bolder, "Yeah, and as I recall she was Valedictorian her final year. Graduated _egregia cum laude_ the show-off - only student from Northwestern ever to exceed the _summa_ honor. She looked like she was doing fine to me. So 'you guys ruined her life' doesn't quite wash, does it, old man? Who are you anyway, her father?" His tone was belligerent.

"No, though he's a very good friend of mine," Al's voice held a low menacing growl. He spared a moment to wonder how his good friend was faring. "And as for the effect 'you guys' had on **Samantha Josephine** ," Al corrected, deflating Roger's look of superiority, "the unfortunate girl has an eidetic memory – which in case your own memories are lacking, means she is able to, let me see how the dictionary defines it… ah yes, 'able to recall or reproduce things previously seen with startling accuracy, clarity, and vividness.' That includes every sordid detail of every last despicable act you worthless bastards forced on her. She tried to bury it in her subconscious, but once it surfaced, she has for all practical purposes relived every single moment of it. It's like you violated her all over again. How's **that** for an effect?"

Fosse looked as if he was going to vomit. Al was pleased to see that Sandoval too looked as if he were beginning to realize the enormity of their crime. The epiphany was far from universal though.

"Wow, lucky bitch, I can think of some experiences I'd love to recapture that clearly," mumbled Woody Elliott under his breath. The microphone picked it up, and a horrified Al glowered at him in equal measures of disbelief and disgust.

"You should thank your lucky stars I'm not there now, Elliott, or I'd choke that cocky attitude right out of your loathsome mouth, you low down punk!" Al could feel himself clenching his fists.

"Poor girl," whispered Fosse, as the ramifications of Al's comments really sank in. "What did we do to her? What have we done to her?" Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. His chains jangled as he tried to brush them away.

Where the others had written it off as juvenile high jinks, and relegated it to the dim and distant corners of their minds, Simon had never forgotten for a single day the terrible things they had done, and it had haunted his every decision in life. He envied Trent, who'd escaped the torment, but Simon hadn't had the courage to end his own miserable existence. He'd tried to make some measure of amends by dedicating his life to helping people, but his feelings of guilt had never for a moment been assuaged.

Al wasn't really surprised, either by the attitude of the others, or by Fosse. Their divergent paths since that time spoke volumes. Whilst the majority had gone on to become successful, and for the most part wealthy, arrogant nozzles, Fosse had trained as a high-school counselor, and spent a good part of his downtime as a volunteer manning the hotline for the Samaritans, or doing outreach work with troubled teenagers.

Al had almost been tempted to exempt Fosse from this little gathering, and find a less confrontational means of dealing with him. In the end, though, he'd decided it should be all or none.

So here they all were, murmuring and grumbling and wondering and worrying what was coming next.

"What **are** you going to do to us?" Foxx asked.

It was amusing to watch them squirm, but Al hoped he would soon have other duties to attend to when Sam awoke. Time to wrap this lot up.

"Quite simply, _gentlemen_ ," again Al stressed the word in a sarcastic tone, "you are here to experience a small measure of what it is like to be treated as a sex slave. You will have to remain chained here until the morning, at which time Lexa will return to unlock your shackles." They all looked in her direction and she nodded, patting her handbag, which held the keys.

"You'll just let us walk out of here as if none of this happened?" Grossman thought it sounded too good to be true, which in his experience as a property developer meant it probably was. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, I assure you," Al looked him in the eye through the cameras to demonstrate his sincerity. "What you do after that is up to you, so long as you don't attempt anything with Lexa or any of the girls. Harm one hair on their heads and I assure you that I will **personally** make you wish you'd never been born." The look on the old man's face left them in no doubt that he was capable of making good on that threat. They had been tracked down once, no doubt they could be found again.

"I would imagine that the night will seem long and you will be unlikely to get much rest. No doubt you are all feeling the discomfort of 'unfulfilled engorgement' by now," here Al was reminded of Sam's enforced charade with Keiko, and how congestive prostatitis had made him hurt afterward. He hoped these guys would feel just as bad, no – worse – during the hours to come. Already some of them were shuffling awkwardly on their beds. They were discovering that the chains were carefully measured, and just a shade too short to allow self-gratification.

"I reckon that all that beer and champagne will be soon be crying for release too," Al smirked. He didn't need to comment about grown men wetting the bed; they had all gotten the message loud and clear.

"However, if you can endure these inconsequential inconveniences – and let's face it, compared to what you put your victim through this situation is no worse than a minor irritation – well then you'll have gotten off lightly in my opinion, but you have our word that we will take it no further."

"Why go to all this trouble? You reckon you know so much about what we're _supposed_ to have done, why not just turn us in to the authorities and be done with it?" This time it was Grossman who asked, still, like the others being careful not to admit to any wrongdoing, but Al didn't have to say anything, for Sinclair gave him his answer.

"Because the old man knows that the statute of limitations has expired on the crime. There isn't a damn thing the law can do to any of us now."

"My tax dollars at work for your law degree, Mr. Sinclair! Glad to hear I'm getting my money's worth."

"If we're home free and in the clear, what's to stop us suing the pants off this lot for wrongful arrest?" Atkinson's arrogance knew no bounds.

"Well, for a start they haven't strictly arrested us, Ratty," Sinclair corrected. "Unlawful imprisonment is more what you're trying to suggest I think. We could also charge them with abduction, deprivation of liberty and unlawful detainment." He was on a roll, and pressed home his point. "Yeh, let me see, section 13a-6-41 if I'm not mistaken. Unlawful imprisonment in the first degree: A class "A" misdemeanor."

Al, with the benefit of Ziggy's vast databanks, was able to take the wind out of his sails. "Actually I think you'll find it would be no more than a 2nd degree count, Sinclair. For first degree it requires circumstances under which the person is exposed to a risk of _serious physical injury_. None of you are under any such risk," he added under his breath, "mores the pity!"

"Therefore, my learned friend, we would only be facing a class "C" misdemeanor." Al's expression was tantamount to adding, 'so put that in your pipe and smoke it!'

Nevertheless, the idea that they could turn the tables on their captors emboldened the rest of the group, and they began talking all at once again, making threats and vowing revenge for the way they were being treated. All except Fosse, who was keeping very quiet.

Anastasia could keep silent no longer. "Let me go get my carving knife and geld them all! They deserve no less!" Her Russian accent made the threat all the more sinister.

"Much as I'd love to indulge you, I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Al regretfully informed her.

"Geez, the guy's all heart!" Grossman commented sarcastically, blustering to hide his terror that the bitch would try it anyway.

"You should thank your lucky stars that I am, Grossman," Al pointed out, "Believe me, some of the punishments these girls wanted to mete out to you _guys_ made my eyes water, and I've seen all sorts of torture in my time."

"I still say you should let us stay, and let them sample some **real** sexual harassment!" This came from Roxy. "See how _they_ get on trying to satisfy _five of us_ all at once." She was referring to the harrowing half hour or so during which Woody Elliott, Randy Jacobs, Grossman, Atkinson and Mortimer had bundled over, under and around the helpless Sammi-Jo, demanding simultaneous gratification from her hands, her mouth, and…

"Enough!" Al spoke sternly, "We're **not** going to sink to their level, ladies, no matter how much they deserve it. However, _gentlemen_ , in answer to why you shouldn't try to bring charges against us for tonight's detainment…"

He paused dramatically, and then proceeded to explain in best Perry Mason fashion, "Firstly, you were not actually abducted, in the legal sense, since you all came here willingly of your own volition." He saw by Sinclair's expression that he conceded that point.

"Secondly, if you report where you spent the night and how, your wives are gonna find out that you went out partying with a bevy of Chicago's finest hookers, and were only too happy to try sampling their wares. You'll be on the couch, if not in the doghouse, for quite a while I reckon. And I should know - I've felt the wrath of five ex-wives!" Al shuddered as he recalled some of the rows he'd had with the women in his life – and he'd never done anything nearly as bad as these scumbags.

"And those not happily married needn't feel smug either," he went on, "most bosses would not approve of your activities, especially if they hear from the ladies the reasons behind this little reunion."

"Which brings me to my third point. Since blackmail is the sort of language you understand, remember that even though the _authorities_ may be powerless to put you on trial for what you did, the **press** could and would. One word to anyone of what we've done to you here tonight and the media will get details of your activities in '84. I don't think any of your marital relationships **or** reputations will be enhanced by that sort of scandal, now will they?" Al had to make sure they wouldn't press charges, he might get off lightly as an accessory, but the girls would feel the full force of the law.

He was pleased to see this point seemed to have hit home, especially with Foxx.

"Ah yes, _Mayor_ Foxx, it would be **most** embarrassing for you, wouldn't it, especially right now with the Mayoral election only two weeks away. Not only goodbye second term, but your aspirations of the Senate, and what was it – oh yeah, the first black President in the Oval office – out the window, don't you think? Or maybe you'll be lucky and the voters will be so jaded by past scandals that they _expect_ their politicians to have a shady past and will forgive you even your involvement in the gang rape of an innocent girl. You're a gambling man, Grossman, what are the odds?"

For once, Grossman had nothing to say for himself.

" _Admiral, Doctor Beckett…"_ Ziggy cut in.

Al didn't wait to hear any more.

"I have pressing business elsewhere, _gentlemen_ , so we will be departing now. I'm sure you'll understand if we **don't** bid you a _good_ night. Lexa, get the ladies out of here, and be careful."

So saying, he disconnected the link, and prepared to be hooked up with Broken Hill.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Broken Hill Hospital**

A rasping, wheezing noise drew the attention of the kindly old nurse who had been intently watching the monitors in Alabama Johnson's room. The young girl was waking up.

"Take it easy, sweetie," she advised as the girl's eyelids flickered open, "Lie quietly and just try to breathe naturally."

It was easier said than done. Breathing was both difficult and painful. Sam was propped almost upright on several well-padded pillows, arranged to relieve any pressure on his lungs. His chest appreciated the comfort but his head would have preferred being prone. He felt dizzy. There was a strong temptation to hyperventilate.

Nurse Lacey knew this. She also knew the next few minutes would determine whether or not her patient would need to be re-intubated. She hoped not. It was not pleasant at the best of times, and re-introducing a tube to a throat already raw and painful often led to unpleasant complications. The calmer she could keep the girl, the better it would be.

"Slowly now," Sam heard the nurse advise. He tried to focus on her so as to stop focusing on his labored breathing. The more he thought about how hard it was to breathe, the more he had trouble getting his breath.

Nurse Lacey looked to be in her mid to late fifties. Her mousey brown hair was disappearing in a sea of grey, giving her the appearance of having been showered in salt and pepper. The whole concoction was pulled back into a practical bun, but it did not make her look stern. She looked very maternal, and comforting. Her smile lit up her whole face and made her bright blue eyes sparkle. She was amply proportioned without being obese; Sam couldn't help but think "cuddly" was the best way to describe her.

Lots of questions flooded into Sam's awakening brain. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was more hoarse wheezy breathing noises and a cough that wracked his chest and tore his throat still further.

"Now don't try to talk," ordered the nurse, a bit belatedly. "I bet you're thirsty, but it'd hurt you something wicked to swallow right now. Here."

Very gently, Nurse Lacey eased the oxygen mask a few inches away from his face, and rubbed an ice cube across his dry, cracked lips to moisten them. Then she made sure the mask was back in place before her patient could start gasping for air like a fish out of water.

Sam tried to smile, but it seemed like such hard work. He ached all over, not only from the M.E., which had settled back in with a vengeance, but also from his exertions in escaping the fire with the weighty burden of Alan Johnson.

"I'm sure you're worried about your father," the Nurse anticipated one of his questions, and patted the back of his hand comfortingly, "but you needn't be, he's going to be just fine."

Sam's relief expressed itself in a slow blink. That reassurance merely led his brain to other questions he couldn't put voice to. The merest hint of an effort to do so made him cough again. To make matters worse, every cough made his forehead feel as if it were being crushed in a vise.

"She's right, Sam, you shouldn't try to talk." Al had arrived unnoticed. "Knowing you, you're bursting with questions, but I'll try to anticipate some of them. Just lie still, relax and listen, okay?"

Sam caught his friend's eye, and his expression spoke volumes. Al was able to read them all in an instant, and he smiled in acknowledgement of how pleased the Leaper was to see him.

"Let me guess…" Al then began, "If Alan and Allie are both alive, why haven't you leaped…?"

Again Sam's eyes gave Al all the answer he needed.

"Yeah, I thought you'd start with a tough one!" Al teased. "We're not sure. Ziggy keeps emphasizing that she has no history to call on, original or altered. We can only suggest that for the moment you take it easy and concentrate on getting better. Something is bound to suggest itself."

At this, Sam's eyes rolled toward the ceiling.

"I know, buddy, I know," Al sympathized. "I **can** tell you that Allie is doing really well in the Waiting Room. She's lost all her symptoms again and is positively bursting with energy. The downside to that you're no doubt already feeling the effects of, I'm afraid, but hopefully whatever's keeping you here will soon be sorted and you can leap out and get your strength back."

Sam's eyes suggested that this eventuality couldn't be a moment too soon from his point of view.

Ever attentive, the nurse was moistening his parched lips with the ice cube again.

"Now don't you go looking at me with those puppy dog eyes, young lady," she chastised, and then partially relented. "Okay, you can have this itty-bitty little one, if you promise not to try and swallow it, or even crunch it up. Just let it melt slowly on your tongue, understand?"

A slight nod was her guarantee. She slipped the tiny chip of ice into her patient's mouth, and watched the look of relief on the pale tortured face. Smiling, the nurse adjusted the mask and checked the flow of oxygen. It looked as if this one might make it without further intrusive treatment.

The slow trickle of melting ice was like nectar to Sam as it soothed and cooled first the roof of his mouth, where his swollen tongue was gently rolling it around, and then his raw and inflamed throat. It felt good.

All too soon came the moment when it had almost gone, and the last vestiges seemed to pool together at the back of his mouth. Before he could stop it, an instinctive swallowing reflex had kicked in, and the small ball of liquid gushed downward following gravity's inexorable path. The nurse had been right, swallowing hurt like the devil and the pain seemed to constrict his throat still further. He started to feel as if the tiny amount of water was a massive obstruction, like he was drowning and he found himself choking, his throat in painful spasms. All thoughts of paying attention to Al's next answers to unasked questions were lost in a cacophony of spluttering and wheezing and coughing.

Sam's hand went automatically to the oxygen mask, whether to pull it out of the way, or press it tighter to his face to maximize the effect; even he couldn't have said for sure.

"Oh dear, oh dear," muttered the nurse as she gently removed his hand, then helped her patient to lean even further forward and ride out the coughing fit. "You see what happens when you talk me into things you're not ready for?"

"You should know better than to give in to him." Al chastised her, unheard. Though in truth had he actually been there he probably would have indulged his friend when faced with that pleading look. He'd seldom been able to deny Sam in the past. In hindsight it was clear to see that it's possible to kill with kindness, but then hindsight is always 20-20.

Sam looked at the nurse apologetically; leaning into her strong sturdy body as she gently rubbed his back until the wracking cough finally subsided. Al breathed a sigh of relief. The leaper had been in such obvious distress that it had been terrifying to watch.

"That's it, easy now sweetie," Nurse Lacey settled ‘Allie’ back into the pillows and again checked the oxygen supply, stroking her patient's forehead soothingly 'til the breathing was once more properly under control.

"Try to sleep, sweetie, you need plenty of rest." She advised.

"She's right, Sam, this other stuff can wait. You need to give your body a chance to recuperate. I'll come back and check on you later and we can talk." Al was deeply concerned for his friend, but he was also aware of how stressful this was for Sammi-Jo to have to witness. It tore Al up every time he had to watch Sam suffer and know he couldn't do anything to help. He would never get used to it, but he'd learned to tough it out. Sammi-Jo was new to this whole thing, which would have been hard enough if she was an independent onlooker. Finding out so recently that she was in fact Sam's daughter, not to mention all the other traumas in her life at the moment, made this an experience it would be unfair of Al to prolong.

Sam didn't try to argue with Al or the nurse. Not even with his eyes, which were so heavy he could barely keep them open. He surrendered himself willingly and unconditionally to the soothing embrace of Somnus.

**QLHQ**

**Imaging Chamber**

"Okay, ' _Gushie'_ we're done in here, disconnect the link, I'm coming out." Sammi-Jo's voice sounded strained, and her eyes were moist. As the image of Broken Hill dissipated around her, she raised her hand to switch off the monitor that had linked her to Al. Instead of having gone to a blank screen, however, Al's face had been replaced by something else. Something so shocking that even though she was horrified, her hand paused on the button, her eyes riveted to the scene she could not believe she was seeing, held by some sort of morbid compulsion to know what it meant.

"David, what the hell…?" she was so surprised by what she was seeing that she forgot the 'on duty name' rule, as well as her manners.

"Oh shit!" she heard from the Control Room, as the picture vanished.

Snapping off the control, Sammi-Jo stormed out of the Imaging Chamber, her face now like thunder. To say she was freaked out would be an understatement.

"David, I'm a laissez faire sorta girl, and whatever perverted pornography you wanna watch in your downtime is up to you, but that – that – **filth** has no place in here while you're on duty."

"No, I wasn't… it isn't… ah, that is… it's not what you think. Damn that sounds so trite. Really, you don't understand…" jabbered David, wondering how on earth he was going to get out of this hole he was digging himself deeper into. What could he possibly tell her – short of the truth – to make her think any less badly of him?

Al had charged him with keeping a link open to the events in Chicago, initially to see that the ladies got away safely and then to be sure that none of the men escaped before their allotted time. Not that there was much danger of that, the details had been meticulously planned and carried out, nothing had been left to chance.

So far, the only thing that had not gone according to plan was his own stupidity in hitting the wrong button. Instead of disconnecting the link between S-J and Al, he'd patched through the feed from Chicago to the Imaging Chamber, giving Sammi-Jo an up close and personal eyeful of the row of stark naked men chained to their beds. Thank the Lord and the intervening years that she hadn't had long enough to recognize any of them.

"Oh, right!" Sammi-Jo shot back sarcastically, "What's not to understand, David?"

Suddenly she was really angry with him, and not even really sure why. She meant what she said; his private life was just that, however disgusting it happened to be. Even so, she was really horrified that he was into that sort of thing. She knew he'd got a failed marriage behind him, but hadn't imagined things had been so bad between David and his wife that he'd turned off women altogether. _What a waste_!

Whoa!

Sammi Jo stopped dead in her tracks when she realized what she was thinking. Did she **fancy** David? Was she attracted to him as a potential boyfriend? Up until now she hadn't given it a moment's consideration. Oh maybe she had acknowledged in casual conversations that he was actually good looking, in a nerdy sort of way, but had she truly been thinking deep down that _she_? – and _he_? – oh boy!

Now she _was_ considering it, she found herself unable to dismiss the idea out of hand. She tried telling herself it was just his mind she found stimulating. That she enjoyed being able to have meaningful conversations about subjects she was knowledgeable in. Yet she couldn't so easily dismiss the fact that she _was_ somehow attracted to him, physically as well as intellectually. Great! One _more_ complication in her life she could do without.

It would probably explain why she was so upset over the whole thing with the sicko images. In any case, whatever the cause, she found herself unable to let it drop, despite also having a burning desire to get away to the privacy of her room before David somehow picked up the vibes of what she may or may not be actually feeling.

"Listen, David," she found herself saying, "you always seemed like a decent enough guy, and so I really hate to have to do this…"

'Uh-oh,' thought David, dreading what was coming next, but fearing he had a pretty good idea.

"I just can't condone that sort of behavior from someone in your position during working hours. Not only is it grossly inappropriate, but also your carelessness in broadcasting it is inexcusable. What if it had gotten into the system in the family quarters, eh?" David blanched at the very idea.

"I'm sorry, Sammi-Jo, you're right, I wasn't paying close enough attention to what I was doing, and it should never have been broadcast. But honestly, I wasn't being self-indulgent. It wasn't a case of 'getting my jollies' while things were quiet. I promise you it's nothing like that at all…" He was stammering, blushing beetroot with embarrassment and perspiring. He was a mess.

David was desperate that Sammi-Jo should not think badly of him, especially in that context. The first time they'd met, he'd been taken by how refreshing it was to be able to talk to a woman who was not only his intellectual equal, but in many areas his superior. He'd found her a breath of fresh air. Soon, he was admiring her from afar for more fundamental reasons too. He found her extremely attractive. Way out of his league of course, most women were, but it didn't hurt to dream. He'd never in a million lifetimes have told her how he felt – she'd just have laughed at him and that would have made things awkward between them. And then her tragic past came to the fore, and the last thing she'd have been interested in was some lame-dog programmer coming on to her. So he nurtured his crush in lonely silence and tried to be just the friend she needed and nothing more. He'd be content with that, and relish their conversations whenever she wanted to 'talk shop' with him.

He'd felt totally incensed when he'd heard how she'd suffered at college, and –like Al – his instinct had been to track down the perpetrators and personally do all manor of harm to the bastards. Which was why he'd been only too pleased to help Al set up this little 'party' for them.

" _Whatever_ it was, David, it's out of order, and I'm going to **have** to report it to Al."

David almost had a heart attack on the spot. "NO! Please, you **can't** do that. I mean there's no need to do that. That is…" If Al found out he'd let Sammi-Jo get even this hint of what was going on in Chicago, he'd probably find himself wishing he could trade places with one of them, since their punishment would be nothing compared to what the Admiral would do to him.

Before their differences had been settled, Ziggy would have found David's discomfort, bordering on panic, to be most entertaining. Now however, the hybrid computer with the big ego found that her sense of fair play was being tested. Dr. Fuller was jumping to conclusions without having all the facts, and in the vast databanks that served as Ziggy's memory, such misunderstandings among humans almost always led to more trouble. So she tried to help.

" _CP is technically correct_ , _Dr Fuller,"_ Ziggy had given David her own nickname, since she could never bring herself to call him Gushie. " _There is no need to inform the Admiral of his activities, since they were in fact being carried out under his direct orders_."

"Zig-gy!" hissed David, "Shut up! Not another word or I'll disconnect your audio output."

But Sammi-Jo still wouldn't let it drop. "Al's orders? _Al's_ **orders**?" her voice was getting higher and louder and shriller as she became more incredulous. "What the hell kinda kinky stuff are you guys _into_?"

David felt himself coloring again. What must she think of him? Even though his was a secret love that he knew would go nowhere, he still hated to think that her opinion of him had sunk so low.

"No, uh none, er nothing…" he stammered. He wanted to shout out loud that it was all for her. That everything was for her. Yet that was the one thing he could never do.

Something else didn't make sense to Sammi-Jo. "If you **are** doing this on Al's orders, how come you didn't just say so when I challenged you? Why try to _stop_ Ziggy from filling me in? What's going on?" Her brow furrowed in frustration at being kept in the dark.

"I'm sorry, Dr Fuller,' David felt it best to use her professional title, "but there are some things for which even _you_ don't have security clearance. Please, just let it drop. I'm sorry - you shouldn't have seen that. I'll make sure it never happens again."

" _Again_? You make a habit of this, uh this _voyeurism_?" Sammi-Jo was getting crosser by the second.

"No, no, oh no, of course not!" David fingered his collar nervously. He kept making things worse; she'd likely avoid him in future altogether whenever possible. He wished he had Al's talent for coming up with plausible stories when he wanted to steer Sam away from asking awkward questions about things he shouldn't know. Of course, if it were any other matter, he could have asked Al to concoct something for him. But the last thing he wanted was to have Al on his case for the slip. No, correction, the last thing he wanted was for Sammi-Jo to find out what she had stumbled upon, and get more upset, and then for both of them to be on his case.

"Perhaps I can get a straight answer out of Ziggy…"

"Audio output." David simply reminded the computer, in a stern tone.

" _I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to give you any details, Dr Fuller. Suffice to say that both the Admiral's and CP's motives are equally pure and honorable."_

"Thank you, Zig," David was genuinely surprised as well as moved by Ziggy's endorsement.

"I suppose I shall have to take **Ziggy's** word for it." Sammi-Jo grudgingly allowed.

"And if it is _work_ you're doing, then I reckon I'd better leave you to it."

Without giving him a chance to say anything more, she strode purposefully out of the Control Room, huffing her shoulders.

David watched her retreating figure and sighed miserably.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Broken Hill**

**Tuesday 18th February**

**9.30am local**

The doctor had just left Alan Johnson's bedside having delivered two items of good news. Firstly he was recommending that Alan could be discharged at noon that day, provided he did not over exert himself. Secondly, that Alabama Johnson was officially out of danger and had passed a very restful night. If she continued to improve during the morning, he anticipated that following his afternoon rounds he would be giving instructions to transfer her out of intensive care and onto the ward.

The second piece of news was received with unreserved relief and pleasure. The first was bitter sweet. He was being sent home – yet he had no home to go to. The house he and Sheena had bought as newlyweds, and shared for over seventeen years had been razed to the ground. They had made many happy memories in that house, and now they were gone forever, along with all of his and Allie's possessions. Miraculously she had somehow saved her precious necklace, but apart from that, they literally had nothing but the clothes on their backs. And even they were damaged in the escape from the fire. The word 'destitute' came depressingly to mind. They'd been insured of course, but only for 'buildings and contents' in the abstract, and not for enough to replace more than bare essentials. The memories, photographs and such, they were irreplaceable.

His brother-in-law Josh had offered them a temporary roof over their heads, but he didn't have the space in his bachelor pad for them to move in permanently. It had turned out fortuitous that Alan had not taken him up on his offer to move in with them to help look after Allie after the accident. He came over whenever he could to do his bit, but Alan had insisted that the young man shouldn't have his chances at romance hampered by a big lug of a guy and a sick girl cramping his style. Had he moved in with them, Josh would have lost everything too, not to mention his life would also have been endangered along with theirs.

As Alan was musing on these things, Josh returned to check up on the family on his way to work, being on the 10am shift. He was pleased to see Alan sitting up, and looking a much better color than he'd been the day before.

"I've just looked in on Allie, but she's sleeping like a baby. I told them not to wake her." Josh told Alan. "I'll pop back at the end of my shift and see how she's doing then. Doc says she could be out of intensive care by then, isn't that great?"

Alan nodded, "Yeah," he said softly. He still wasn't his normal chatty self, since too much talk tended to set off his coughing again. His smile was broad enough to show how good he thought the news, though.

"Can I get you anything for when I come back?" Josh asked, putting the morning offerings down on the cabinet by the bed. As well as a bunch of grapes, he'd brought Alan some toiletries, a new comb and the local newspaper.

"Not how you'd choose to be famous, but you two are front page news." Josh told him. "The fire was all over the TV news yesterday too. Yours and the hotels of course, but it is your case that has caught the public’s imagination. I know how you feel about taking charity, Alan, but I think you may have to swallow your pride. They've started an appeal to help you guys get some urgent essentials to replace all you lost. By all accounts the money is rolling in. The local community's rallying to the cause."

"People are very generous in a crisis." Alan admitted, covering his mouth as he coughed briefly, "If I saw this sort of thing happen to someone else, I'd want to help too."

"As do I." Came a strange voice from just inside the doorway to the ward.

Both Alan and Josh looked up toward the stranger, who looked curiously familiar.

He was probably in his mid 60's, tall and distinguished looking. His hairline had receded almost to the point of baldness, but otherwise, outwardly he bore his years well. He was wearing a sharp brown suit, with crisply creased trousers, a dazzling white shirt and brown patterned tie. He looked all business, except for the broad smile and the twinkle in his eye.

As he approached Alan's bed, Josh suddenly realized who he was and nudged Alan gently on the arm.

"My God, Al, do you know who that is?" he whispered, to which Alan shook his head. "It's only the Prince of Whales!"

Alan looked at Josh as if he had lost his mind. The old man looked nothing like Prince Charles; even _he_ knew that.

"Your friend knows my nickname," the stranger laughed softly, then explained for the confused invalid. "Whale with an 'h.' As in slang for a high stakes gambler! Which I must confess I am."

Josh nudged Alan again. "That's – he's…"

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man winked at Josh, as if to say 'Let me take the pressure off.' "My name is Kerry Packer."

Alan's jaw dropped. What was the famous Kerry Packer doing talking to him?

Josh was similarly 'star-struck.' Again he whispered to the man in the bed, "He's like, the _richest_ man in Australia, maybe even in the _world_!"

Mr. Packer heard him. He was used to this sort of thing. "Actually, young man, I think I only ranked around 111th in the world for last year!"

"How can we help you, sir?" asked Alan, still unable to believe this was really happening.

"I think you've got that backwards," Packer told him, "May I?" he indicated the seat by the bed, which Josh hadn't taken since he wasn't planning on staying long.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners?" Alan apologized, but Mr. Packer brushed it away with a sweep of his hand as he sat down.

"Do you want an interview?" Josh asked, knowing that the mogul owned both newspaper groups and television stations.

Alan nudged him this time. "Don't be daft. If it was just an interview, Mr. Packer wouldn't be here in person." All this talking made him cough again, and Josh handed him a glass of water, which he sipped gratefully.

"Oh I don't know, it might be fun, now you mention it, but no, I'm not here for an interview. I heard your story on the news, and I was moved by it. I've done a bit of digging on your daughter and her condition. I'm told her greatest wish is to swim with dolphins."

"She thinks it will help her." Josh supplied, to spare Alan's vocal chords. "We were just planning a fundraiser to get her to the Dolphin Therapy Centre in Bunbury, but I guess any funds we raise now will go to more mundane needs."

"Not necessarily." Kerry Packer smiled again. He had a very engaging smile. "How much do you think a trip like that would cost?"

"Allie had it all worked out on her laptop, every last detail." Alan told him, "But it was lost in the fire."

"Then I'd very much like to speak with your daughter, if I may."

0o0

So it was that when he awoke a short time later, Sam was told that he had a VIP visitor waiting to see him, if he felt up to it. Though the M.E was still making him feel exhausted and interminably achy, he felt much improved on the day before. Mindful that an encounter with a stranger could somehow result in the completion of the leap, since saving their lives had proved insufficient, he indicated that by all means he would accept his visitor, intrigued by who it could be.

Alan came in first, still in a wheelchair as per hospital protocol. Behind him came an older man, whom Sam instantly recognized as the media mogul Kerry Packer. Why he should recognize who this man was, when most of his personal recollections had fallen through the holes in his Swiss cheese memory was just one of those mysteries that would forever remain unsolved.

"Mr. Packer, what a pleasant surprise!" Sam greeted him. Both men were astonished that 'Allie' had so readily recognized him.

Firstly, he asked Sam a few gentle questions about Allie's illness, which research and personal experience meant he was easily able to answer. Then Mr. Packer asked a couple of questions about the night of the fire, and how they had escaped. Sam had anticipated that he might have to explain at some stage, and so had prepared some half-truths.

"I couldn't sleep… fell out of bed… I went to the bathroom… in there when lightening struck… It was terrifying. I soaked a towel and stumbled downstairs, where I found Dad had knocked himself out … I don't know _how_ I did it – I guess I was running on pure adrenalin - but somehow I managed to drag him out the door… **Really** wore me out though!" Like Alan, talking still made Sam cough.

Alan was incredulous. His own sick daughter had saved his life, when it should have been the other way around. He leaned out of his chair to give her an enormous hug. "Thank you" he whispered, though it was woefully inadequate in the circumstances.

"I'll bet it did!" exclaimed their visitor. Then he got to the longed-for trip, asking Allie why she wanted to go, and what she expected to get out of it, and how much it would cost. Again, despite the brain-fog starting to swirl round his synapses, Sam was able to give satisfactory answers to all his queries.

"There's no way we'll be able to raise so much funding now, though. I'll never make it to Bunbury." Sam finished sadly. He felt that he'd let Allie down, even though he'd saved her life, and that of her father.

"Never say never young lady," came the emphatic reply, as Mr. Packer reached into his inside jacket pocket. Without another word, he drew out his checkbook and cut a check for 1500 Au dollars **more** than the sum Sam had specified. He handed it to a speechless Alan.

"The extra is to get yourselves some holiday clothes, and a swimsuit. Can't go skinny dipping with dolphins, eh young lady?"

That sounded like such an 'Al' thing to say that Sam couldn't help laughing. When the laughter inevitably became a cough, Mr. Packer stood to leave.

"You'd best get some rest, young lady. Once you're out of here, you have a long journey ahead of you!"

"Thank you _very_ much, but I can't possibly accept this," Alan told him, holding the check out towards the old man's hand. "It's far too generous."

Most often, Kerry's gifts were gratefully received, with surprise but no hesitation. On rare occasions, his magnanimity met with pride and a sense of unworthiness, as here. Kerry Packer, Prince of Whales, thought he knew how to satisfy the man's misgivings and leave everyone happy.

"Then let's have a little wager," he grinned. "If you win, you keep the check…"

"I'm not much of a gambling man, and I make a point of never betting more than I can afford to lose. I have nothing of any value left to bet with." Pointed out Alan Johnson. "The only thing precious to me that I still have is my daughter."

"Don't worry, I'm not about to ask for your firstborn!" Packer reassured him with a laugh. "Tell you what, you have your beard. If you lose, you shave your beard off. Deal?"

Alan thought he was crazy, but he had heard of Kerry Packer's legendary wagers. The story was well known throughout Australia and beyond how a Texas oil baron had tried to impress Mr. Packer by bragging "I'm worth 60 million." Packer's calm response had been to pull out a coin and declare, "Toss you for it!"

Alan _was_ grateful for the offer, which would make his daughter very happy. 'Oh well,' he thought, 'the stakes may be very unequal, but they reflect our circumstances. As long as it's a fair bet, why not?'

"What are we betting on?" he enquired.

"Hmmm, let me see…" Kerry mused. He was used to playing to win. Coming up with a sure-fire loss was harder than he thought at first. Then his eyes lighted on the A3 drawing pad by Allie's bed, brought at her request for jotting down her thoughts, but as yet still frustratingly blank.

"Tell you what, I bet you that I can take a piece of paper from that pad and fold it in half ten times."

Sam knew that Mr. Packer was trying to get Alan to take the money and still keep his dignity. Sam wanted the Johnson's to have the money so that Allie's dreams of swimming with dolphins would come true. Sam knew he should just keep his mouth shut and let it happen. But Sam was Sam, and his sense of fair play rose up and put his mouth in gear before he had a chance to fully engage his M.E. muddled brain.

"Everyone knows that's _impossible_ Mr. Packer," he blurted out. Whether or not **everyone** knew it didn't really matter. Sam knew it, and he was reminding Alan of the fact, "No piece of paper, no matter how large or how thin, can be folded more than eight times."

Kerry Packer rolled his eyes. He had worried the father might be wise to his ruse, and banked on recent events being enough of a distraction to keep him from calling the facts to mind. The girl he had thought would be no threat to his plan, since he was aware how her condition tended to addle the brains. This must have been one of her good days – what lousy timing!

"Sorry, Mr. Packer, no bet." Alan stated firmly. "I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it, but I've never been one for taking charity, and I don't plan to start now, however fancy you try to wrap it up."

Kerry was not a man to be beaten so easily though. He'd toughed out polio as a child, and bounced back from several heart attacks in recent years. He was not about to let this little hitch prevent him from seeing his good deed to fruition. He didn't squander his money, but when he could use it in what he felt was a truly worthy cause, it gave him pleasure to know he'd been able to make a difference.

"In that case," he returned, "Allie is just going to have to **earn** this money."

Both father and daughter, in the guise of Sam, looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. What did he mean? Sam knew for sure that even if Allie were old enough to get a job, she was by no means fit enough for work. The way he felt at the moment, even a paper route would take him a week or more to complete.

"What are you suggesting?" there was just a hint of defensiveness in Alan's voice, as if Mr. Packer were proposing something indecent.

"Simply this." The mogul took no offense. "I have just decided that I have a mind for Channel 9 to do a documentary on the work of the Dolphin Therapy center in Bunbury. I think it is something our viewers would find engaging. It could even turn into a mini series following the progress made by one of their 'patients' or however they refer to their clientele. Naturally, the film crew would need permission from that person and her family for her to take part, and I would be willing to pay such a family for their cooperation. Say to the tune of…"

He raised his eyebrows, tipped his head to one side, and proffered the check once more.

"Why do I get the feeling you ain't gonna take no for an answer?" Alan couldn't help smiling at the man's persistence.

"Maybe because I won't." Packer replied, waving the check even closer to Alan's hand. "What do you say? Can I count on some amazing footage for my exposé?"

Sam could see Alan's objections were weakening, and decided to play the ultimate clincher. He turned to Allie's father with his best puppy-dog expression and pleaded, feeling as if Allie were speaking through him, "Could I, Dad? _Please_ , say we can do it, it sounds like a ripper deal, and it'd be fun. Hey, I'd be a TV star!" He did his best to giggle with girlish glee. "Please, Daddy, _please_ can I?" He batted his eyelids for all he was worth.

As predicted, Alan melted. "You have to make sure you do _exactly_ what they ask you to," he qualified his approval.

"I promise," grinned Sam.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Perth Airport WA**

**Friday 11.55am local**

Since his release from the hospital in Broken Hill, Sam had been rather busy for someone who was supposed to be taking it easy.

First order of business had been an acutely embarrassing shopping trip, where he had done his best to avoid trying on swimsuits and other items of teenage girl fashion. His face ached from all the blushing he'd done. Luckily, Alan had agreed that his daughter should not go for a bikini.

By pleading M.E. induced exhaustion, which he was genuinely feeling anyway, he'd managed to curtail the shopping trip and bring 'home' to Uncle Josh's apartment a number of discreet outfits, mostly nicely unisex jeans and t-shirts. If Allie wanted frilly girlie stuff, she'd just have to wait til she could shop for herself.

Mr. Packer had been given clearance to make his documentary by the necessary parties in Western Australia and had personally arranged for Allie to be accepted onto the Therapy Program at Bunbury, for as long as it took to get the footage they needed.

Josh had been brilliant at coordinating all the other arrangements for their trip, despite the fact that work prevented him from joining them. Even so, Sam had needed to redo some of the Internet searches to retrieve the information that had been lost from Allie's laptop. He'd tackled the task with enthusiasm, but his energy levels were still at minimum, and he found even these efforts were soon wearing. He slept whenever he wasn't actively engaged in preparing for the trip.

Brain fog plagued him at every turn, and he commented to Josh at one point that he felt as if he had sandbags tied to his body and mind, weighing him down and hampering his every move or thought.

The intense fatigue, and need to focus on getting Allie to Bunbury, meant that Sam did not dwell long on the fact that Al hadn't dropped by to see him since he'd had the coughing fit in the hospital so many nights ago. At least it seemed a long time ago. Truth to tell he'd lost track of the days.

He felt a little hurt at first that Al hadn't checked to see he was okay. Then he realized that Al could have looked in on him any number of times while he slept, which he did for hours on end. Obviously, there was nothing new to tell him about what he needed to do to leap, so Sam convinced himself that Al was working on getting those answers rather than frustrating the leaper with the lack of information. There were odd moments when he felt lonely though, rising up unbidden to niggle at him, then quickly forgotten again as he struggled to keep any coherent thought in his head.

When he did think of Al, there were a couple of times when a nagging question hovered just out of reach in his brain. Something he wanted to ask Al that was not about the leap. Something Al had said during the fire. A name… It remained stubbornly just at the edge of his conscious thought, tantalizing him with a sense of importance he couldn't explain. He just hoped that when Al finally turned up again, it would come back to him.

All the preparations were finally at an end, and Sam had slept through the entire three and a half hour flight from Adelaide to Perth, exhausted by the trip to the airport.

Now, he sat dozing in a wheelchair on the sidewalk while Alan loaded their luggage into a nearby rental car, which he would probably then doze in while Alan drove the two hours to Bunbury. He'd asked to stay out in the fresh air for as long as possible, since all the travelling was making his head ache, and giving him a feeling of claustrophobia.

Suddenly, Sam became aware of someone standing very near him. He opened one eye; not wanting to be dazzled by the midday sun, and cautiously raised his head til he saw the outline of his friend Al.

"Hi," he ventured wearily, "What news, Al? Do you finally know why I haven't leaped yet?"

"Nothing definite to your second question, buddy, but as to 'what news,' _well_ ," Al paused dramatically, causing Sam to open his other eye and look closer at the image of his friend, which for once was sharply in focus.

"How's this for news?" Al pronounced triumphantly, and suddenly reached out to grab Sam by the hand. Before Sam could register what was happening, Al bent down and drew the astonished time traveller into a bear hug.

" ** _AL_**?" Sam could hardly breathe, but it was amazement at the physicality of the embrace more than the actual tightness of it that caused him to gasp. A tear sprung to the corner of his eye as he struggled to speak. Sensing Sam wanted the contact to continue, but mindful of how it must look in a crowded public place, Al backed off, though he allowed Sam to hang on to his hand a moment longer before he took a step away.

"Is it _really_ you?" Sam breathed, reaching out as if to grab Al again. When Al just nodded, grinning from ear to ear, Sam rubbed his eyes. He was still afraid he was only dreaming.

"In the flesh, Sam. I'm real, solid as a rock."

"You're actually _here_? In _Australia_?" Sam asked, knowing how stupid he must be sounding, but still incredulous. " _How_?"

Al gave a mischievous wink, "Plenty of pixie dust; second star to the right and straight on 'til morning!" He made an expansive gesture, sailing his hand forward and skyward, to go with his teasing grin.

Al risked a quick squeeze of Sam's shoulder for further proof of his presence. He could see Sam, the friend he'd been separated from for the longest time, by Time itself, and shared the glory of the moment that they were together again at last. He could also see the aura that surrounded Sam though. Donna's warnings about the huge father decking him came back to mind and led him to restraint. "I know you're all excited, but remember Allie's dad's just over there and you're still in her aura. We're over here for a while, so don't worry, there'll be plenty of time for a proper reunion."

"We…?" Sam queried.

A sharp popping noise to his right startled Sam. Had it been a car backfiring? A gunshot? He looked round to see an attractive tall woman with light brown hair, who looked around her late thirties but was dressed like a teenager in a short, short red skirt and white crop top showing her bare midriff, with a short white bolero jacket decorated with red embroidery on the rounded edges. Long red earrings dangled from her ears. She had a dinky red handbag on a long red cord over her shoulder. Her red shoes had the highest heels he'd ever laid eyes on, and Sam thanked God he was not the one wearing them. The sound had been her bubblegum snapping between her teeth.

"Sam, in case you don't remember her, let me introduce you to my fiancée Ms Tina Martinez O'Farrell."

Tina giggled, and popped her gum again. "Ain't you just a cutie?" she said to the aura of Allie, as she 'chubbied' Sam on the cheek.

Sam blushed as he tried to say he was pleased to meet her. He stopped mid sentence and swung back to stare at Al.

"F-fiancée? Al? Did **you** say _fiancée_?"

Al beamed and nodded, "Sure did, pal. We decided we'd hop across to Australia to visit our favorite time-traveler, get married while we're here and have the honeymoon all in one!"

Sam was finding all this too much to take in. His head started to swim.

"You sure know how to throw a body for a loop, dontcha?" he told his friend.

At that moment, Alan looked round, and saw two strangers flanking his daughter, who looked as if she might be about to faint. He immediately dropped the bag he'd been holding and rushed toward her.

Sam didn't know if Al had a cover story ready for his contact with Allie, so he hastily came up with one of his own.

"Tell him Kerry Packer sent you," he whispered to Al, who he suddenly realized hadn't talked with him since that particular development. He wondered how much he could explain in the seconds before Alan started interrogating them. "Roll with it. You both work for Channel 9, okay."

"Good idea," Al answered. Ziggy had updated him on the events that had led to Sam being in Perth so soon, which had nearly thrown a major spanner in his flight plans.

"Allie, are you okay punkin?" a concerned Mr Johnson addressed himself first to his daughter, but placed himself between the wheelchair and the old man just in case.

"My head's a bit fuzzy," Sam told him truthfully, "but I'm okay. Dad, these people are from Channel 9, they're going to help me with the Dolphin documentary."

Alan Johnson visibly relaxed. He'd been castigating himself for leaving his daughter helpless at the side of the road. You heard such stories, and it only took a moment for a child to be snatched. Especially a vulnerable one like Allie, who might not realize what was going on until it was too late to raise the alarm. A dozen potentially disastrous scenarios had raced through his brain in that short dash from the back of the car.

Al turned on his most disarming smile and held out his hand. "Albert Calavicci at your service, Sir, but please call me Al. I'm a Researcher." This was of course true in a sense; he was constantly using Ziggy to research information to help Sam at Project Quantum Leap. He couldn't be blamed if Mr Johnson took him to mean he was a TV Researcher, now could he? "This is my assistant, Ms Tina Martinez O'Farrell." In many ways this was also true. The best falsehoods were those that had a grain or more of truth in them.

Tina held out a long fingered hand, with long red fingernails. Several red bangles rattled on her wrist.

"I don't mean to appear rude," Alan apologized once the introductions were complete, "but I need to get my daughter out of the sun."

"Of course," concurred Al, "her welfare is our main concern too." Another truth; confirmed by a wink exchanged between Observer and Leaper.

Al and Tina proved their point by helping to get Sam settled into the car and the wheelchair folded up.

Then Al informed them both, "We are booked into the same place as you, so that we can liaise closely over the project. We'll try not to intrude too much."

"Not at all," put in Sam quickly, "I'm **really** looking forward to working with you!" His earnest expression told Al just how sincere he was in this, though of course Alan would never have guessed at the real reasons for such eagerness.

"Nevertheless," Alan qualified, though not sternly, "We have a long drive ahead of us, then we're going to get you settled in, and you're going to take a nap before you do anything else young lady. I'm not having you suffer a relapse from over-exertion."

"Listen to your Daddy." Tina told Sam with a wink, "We'll be right behind ya and catch up with you later. **_I_** have some shopping to do!"

Sam suddenly had a very clear memory of just how much Tina loved to shop.

"Have fun!" he told her, knowing she would. He couldn't help but smile when he saw Al roll his eyes.

**QLHQ**

Bena was satisfied that Allie would return to her life without the burden of guilt she had been carrying since the accident that took her mother from her. She may never _fully_ exonerate herself, but the blame was no longer felt as keenly. Allie was now about as well adjusted as a teenager had a right to be.

Thus Bena had no suggestions as to why the young lady couldn't resume her own life and let Sam leap on.

No more did Cassie.

The only sign that Allie wasn't in perfect health and full possession of her faculties was her strange talk about an angel that Cassie was supposed to have brought to visit her just before the fire at her home. Allie was able to describe the supposed angel in great detail – though she didn't exactly sound like any angel Cassie had ever read about. Yet Cassie had no knowledge of the woman, nor did anyone else at the project. Well, that wasn't totally true. When Allie spoke of her, Cassie found that a strange long Puerto Rican name popped into her head before Allie gave it, and she could hear the shrill, strongly accented voice saying to her, "Of course chu no find anything... I have no pulse or heartbeat because I am no alive - I am an Angel."

Yet as fast as the memory – for such it seemed more than a vision – had entered Cassie's head, it faded away again. Cassie had no explanation, and when she asked Ziggy, the computer gave the enigmatic offering that 'some questions are best left unanswered' and then started quoting from "Hamlet" about 'more things in Heaven and Earth...'

Cassie declared that Allie had benefitted enormously from being able to live a normal life for a few days, free of pain and fatigue and the inability to think clearly. Allie knew and accepted that it was temporary, and even though a return of her symptoms to avert the crisis of the fire had frightened and depressed her, she was ready and willing to accept her burden once more. Allie was grateful to Sam for saving her life, and that of her father, and for her 'M.E. free holiday,' but the truth was she was missing her father and wanted to get home to him.

Ziggy postulated that perhaps after all GFTW was merely keeping Sam in Australia in order to allow Al to make personal contact as he'd wished. It seemed a stretch to credit it, but she had no other hypothesis at this time, so she'd helped him make the arrangements to ensure he got across the world in the shortest time possible.

Since Al would have his laptop with him throughout the journey, they should be able to rig a link at any stage if necessary. Sammi-Jo agreed to remain on standby to activate the Imaging Chamber, though she was reticent to hang around the Control Room too much. She was still trying to work out what her feelings for David actually amounted to, if anything, and how she could keep them from interfering in their professional relationship.

David remained ignorant of Sammi-Jo's dilemma, but continued to be torn by his own feelings for the troubled young woman. A part of him wished that he could let her know what she almost discovered by accident, that she had in some measure been avenged. It had been a pathetic and subdued bunch of bastards that had slunk away from a Chicago attic the morning after their 'reunion,' their tails figuratively between their legs. Their cocky swagger and arrogant self-importance had been replaced by a manifestation of both physical and emotional discomfort. At least some of them had found their consciences had been pricked, and the resulting wounds were even now starting to fester.

David may have derived some perverse pleasure from watching their deserved discomfort throughout that long night, but he didn't think that Sammi-Jo would have shared it, even though she had every right to. So, like his feelings for her, this was something that David would _never_ tell her about.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Friday**

**Quest Bunbury Serviced Apartments**

It had taken every ounce of self-restraint on Sam's part to submit to Alan Johnson's enforced conditions. He'd happily slept in the car; lulled by the movement and unable to do much else, he made the most of the time and rested.

However, although he may have promised to take another nap once they had registered and been shown to their two bedroom apartment, there was no way that Sam could actually sleep when he knew that Al was _really_ there, so tantalizingly near and yet so far away in a room just a few doors down.

For more years than he could remember Sam had been trapped in time, unable to interact with family and friends in any way other than through the holographic link with Al. That link was a lifeline he couldn't cope without, but it's insubstantiality left him feeling very isolated and desperately lonely at times. It would probably sound pathetic to anyone who didn't understand his circumstances, but the thought of being able to give his friend a simple hug meant the world to Sam. It was like all his Christmases had come at once. He determined to grab every second he could with Al, and savor every moment.

Thus, five minutes after Alan had checked on his daughter and thought he'd found her asleep, Sam was getting out of bed. The M.E. was making him weak as a kitten, and he could barely stand, but stubborn determination kept him from retreating back to the comfortable mattress. By leaning on anything within reach, and stopping to rest every few paces, Sam had made it to the door of his room in only ten minutes. He was exhausted, and his legs ached as if he'd just run a marathon uphill with concrete boots on, but thoughts of seeing Al spurred him on.

His hand was on the door when it opened to admit Alan carrying a bottle of chilled water in case Allie woke up thirsty. The movement of the door almost knocked Sam over, and Mr. Johnson just managed to catch his daughter before she fell.

"The toilet is through _that_ door over there," he pointed indulgently, "If you needed to go, why didn't you call me punkin?"

Sighing with frustration and fatigue, Sam allowed himself to be carried over to the en-suite, and having availed himself of the facilities since he was there, permitted Alan to tuck him back up in bed. It was all he could do not to weep with disappointment at having his plan thwarted.

"Now you call me if you need anything, punkin," Alan instructed him, "Try to get some rest, okay."

Having worn himself out at the first attempt, Sam was too enfeebled to try again at once, or even to argue. He nodded, and settled into his pillows. He just wished he knew how long Al had meant by 'a while,' when he'd promised him they'd have time to get together.

**Bunbury CBD**

Tina was still out shopping for her wedding dress.

She was like a kid in a candy store, and she was going to make the most of the opportunity. The poor sales assistant was exhausted, for it seemed as if the customer was determined to try on absolutely _every_ item of stock they possessed. It looked certain to take until the manageress locked the doors at the end of the day's trading to get her out of the bridal store, and the assistant heaved a sigh of relief that she had not shown up yesterday, when they had late night hours until 9pm.

Three times already, the customer's shrill shriek of delight had given the false hope that she'd found the ideal garment, only to have her look in the mirror and declare that this feature or that line simply wouldn't do. This one was too elaborate, that one too plain, another too old fashioned, a fourth 'so trendy it doesn't even look like a wedding dress'. She was impossible to please.

To make matters worse, every time she got even close to liking something, she simply _had_ to call a friend on her mobile and describe it in detail. Nevertheless, Brianna Pritchard maintained her professional façade and refrained from making the snide comments she was thinking, particularly "Perhaps we should offer to custom design and **make** madam a wedding dress, it would probably be quicker!" The customer was always right – even if she _was_ being a royal pain in the train.

**Two hours later**

Tina was still out shopping for her wedding dress.

Al had taken care of all necessary business through a videoconference with HQ via his laptop. Every apartment on the complex had in-room broadband, enabling him to also look up various services he would need to procure for the impending wedding. He soon had everything taken care of on the personal front too.

Figuring Sam had been given long enough to recuperate from the journey, Al set out for the apartment that had been allocated to the Johnsons.

He was sure this little reunion would do Sam the world of good, even if he wasn't exactly 'himself,' but if he was honest, Al had come as much for himself as to boost Sam's morale. He'd missed his friend all these years, despite their almost daily contact. It had been frustrating beyond belief to watch everything Sam endured and accomplished, without being able to fully share either the burdens or the joys. This was real. This was tangible. This was an oasis of semi normality in the T _wilight Zone_ world of Leaping they'd wandered through during these past years. Al determined to grab every second he could with Sam, and savor every moment.

Taking a long, satisfying draw on his cigar, Al knocked softly on the door to the Johnson's apartment and waited for admittance. He had to admit Sam had done a good job tracking down this place. It more than lived up to the online brochure advertisement of 'a quality four and a half star rated alternative to traditional accommodation, offering guests a spacious apartment for the price of a hotel or motel room.' It would make a more than satisfactory base for Al's latest honeymoon.

Al smiled his most disarming smile as the main door to the apartment opened to reveal Alan Johnson. He'd expected to be welcomed in at once, and was therefore surprised to find the large man blocking his way, and putting up a restraining hand.

"Mr. Calavicci," began the father, "this is a **No-Smoking** apartment."

Al sighed with relief. If that was the problem, it was an easy fix. He could smoke anytime, but getting together with Sam was a once in a leaptime opportunity.

"Of course, I'm sorry," Al immediately extinguished his cigar, "It won't happen again."

He started to move toward the threshold, but Alan still barred his way.

"I agreed to cooperate with Mr. Packer on this documentary since it means so much to my daughter, and I'll honor that agreement, but I need to set some ground rules, Mr. Calavicci."

"I'm listening," Al told him, displaying a level of patience he was far from feeling, "but I'd just like to assure you, sir, that I am well aware of the implications of Sa- Allie's condition, and I have no intention of asking her to do anything detrimental to her health. I meant what I said when I told you her welfare is our main concern."

"I'm delighted to hear it," Alan told him. "Then you won't mind waiting until I send for you. Allie has exhausted herself and needs to rest. She's sleeping now and likely to sleep through until the early hours at least. **If** she's sufficiently revived in the morning, I'll carry her through to the couch and you can chat to her for a while. I must insist, though that if she shows any signs of overdoing it, I shall ask you to leave immediately. I expect you to respect my conditions."

"Naturally," Al agreed, inwardly wishing he could just knock the guy out and step over his unconscious body to get to Sam. Yet what his heart wanted his head told him was neither ethical, nor really possible given the other man's size, so he took his leave and sadly made his way back to his own apartment.

It was only once he was there, seething at how his wonderful reunion seemed even more fraught with problems than when he was halfway round the world, that something Alan had said made Al even more despondent. ' _If she shows any signs of overdoing it, I shall ask you to leave immediately'._ It suddenly became clear to Al that the father had no intentions of leaving him alone with his daughter for a moment. Thus Al would not get any time alone with Sam, to talk to him **as Sam**. He could communicate more openly through the Imaging Chamber – even remotely via the web-link. The whole journey had been wasted after all. What _had_ he been thinking?

**Sam's room**

Sam's slumbers were disturbed by the sound of voices. He stirred, and strained to hear what was being said. His befuddled brain couldn't decipher even the gist of the conversation, but what he could make out was the identity of the participants. One was unmistakably Alan Johnson, the other was further away, harder to discern – wait, it sounded like – yes! He was sure of it, yes, definitely – it was Al! Excitement surged through him, energizing Sam.

"Al!" his voice didn't carry as he'd hoped it would. Sam thought about getting up again, but thinking about it was as much as he could manage. "Dad!" he called, hoping Mr. Johnson would rush in, ever attentive, and deliver his heart's desire.

Sure enough, a minute later, the huge man was creeping into his bedroom, anxious not to disturb his daughter should he be mistaken about hearing her cry.

"You awake, punkin?" he queried softly, though his tone made it more a surprised statement.

"I heard voices," Sam confessed, "Was that A-ah Mr. Calavicci?" It sounded so strange on his lips, that formal name, for the man who was something between a father and a brother to him.

"I'm sorry he woke you," Alan began, with renewed anger at the old man's intrusion, "but don't worry, I sent him away." He had by now crossed to the bed, and was tenderly stroking his little girl's hair.

Sam couldn't mask his disappointment. Crestfallen would be an understatement. He huffed the man's hand away, and pouted petulantly, "But I **wanted** to talk to him!"

"I know sweetie, but there'll be plenty of time tomorrow. Your first therapy session at the Dolphin center isn't till Monday."

"Can you call him back?" Sam pleaded hopefully. If he hurried, Al wouldn't have got far, he'd return in no time.

"Not tonight, punkin. You need to rest."

' _What I **need** is to talk to Al!' _ Sam screamed silently. It was easier to get a private conversation with his friend when they were miles and/or years apart. The whole situation was ridiculous, and frustrating in the extreme.

Alan Johnson would not hear of anything but his precious Allie getting her rest, and Sam was truly too weak to put up a fight. He hated how bad the M.E. made him feel, and his heart went out to Allie, who'd endured it for so long already. Hers had to be one of the worst cases, and it was so unfair that a young active girl had to be so severely restricted. Sam decided his best plan was to be so well rested by morning that he could leapfrog over the big man to get to his buddy if he had to. He just hoped the aches in his legs wouldn't keep him from the sleep he honestly still needed.

**Saturday 22nd February 2003**

M.E. symptoms notwithstanding Sam felt pretty good when he woke on Saturday morning. He insisted on getting up for breakfast to prove the point, and managed a reasonably hearty meal. By this time, he had begun suggesting to Alan that he should contact "the TV people" to arrange a meeting. He didn't care that they wouldn't be able to talk freely if Johnson was also in the room. He just wanted to be in the same room as Al. Really, truly, actually in the same room. Knowing Al was in the same building and yet not being able to see him seemed a crueler torture than knowing he was trapped in the past and couldn't touch the friend he could see.

Eventually, Sam was able to convince Alan that he was fit to receive company, and the call was made. Sam let the father fuss at arranging cushions behind him on the couch and making sure he was comfortable, counting the seconds as he waited for the longed-for knock on the door.

As soon as the call came through, Al called out to Tina and headed out for Sam's apartment, before the big man could change his mind. Tina had been acting strangely, whispering with Ziggy and someone at the Project, but Al figured it was girlie stuff to do with the wedding. Al knew that Ziggy's help had been enlisted to arrange the license and all the official stuff at short notice.

The rushed nature of arrangements meant Tina hadn't had her big engagement party as promised, but Al assured her they would have a 'reception to remember' when they got back to make up for it. So far, very few colleagues were in on the secret of their impending nuptials, thinking that the visit to Sam was the sole purpose of the trip. It was gonna be one heck of a surprise when they got home.

"You go ahead, honey," Tina told Al as they set out from their room, "I promise I'll be right behind you. I just need to take care of a little something."

"Can't it wait?" Al didn't want anything to jeopardize this meeting.

"Trust me, baby, you'll be glad if I do this first, just like, _trust_ me, okay?" Tina gave him 'that look' which she knew would melt him, especially when it was rapidly followed by a passionate kiss and some rather personal contact. Under almost any other circumstances, that would have been enough for Al to allow himself to be distracted from his purpose long enough to accept her implicit invitation. Not this time though. Sam was waiting for him.

With a quick pat of her posterior, Al told her to hurry, and went on alone.

This time when he knocked, Allie's father didn't bar his way, though his look cautioned Al that he would brook no nonsense. Al had made sure he extinguished his cigar back in his own room as soon as the summons came through, and had used a breath freshener for good measure.

"My assistant will be along in a couple of minutes, she's just making an important phone call," Al covered.

Al entered the comfortable living area of Sam's apartment and saw him lying on the well-upholstered, pale blue couch, propped up on purple cushions. The smile that lit up Sam's face when he saw his friend finally made the whole trip worthwhile.

"Hello again, _Miss Johnson_ ," Al took 'Allie's' hand, "Remember me? Al Calavicci!"

"Oh, yes, I remember you!" Sam winked at him, returning a very firm handshake. "Thank you _so much_ for coming!"

"I have a little present for you, Allie, with your father's permission." Al did the tactful thing and handed the small parcel he'd brought with him to Alan Johnson.

"I heard that a much loved friend perished in the fire," Al explained, "so we swung by London and picked up this one. I know it can't fully replace the original, but we thought Allie might like…"

"What is it, Dad?" Sam asked, curiously. He realized that the intended recipient must indeed be Allie, if it wasn't something smuggled to him behind the big man's back, but he was interested to know anyway.

Alan had by now unwrapped the package, and found it contained a hotty-botty bear. This one was purple, not orange, and it's eyes were level, but since Isaiah had been unique, it was perhaps better that this one had it's own original charms.

"Oh, he's so sweet!" Sam knew that Allie would love her new friend, and though she'd still mourn the loss of her beloved Isaiah, this little fellow would help to soften the loss. "Thank you!" Sam was thanking Al for himself as well as Allie.

"Yes, that was very thoughtful of you," conceded Mr. Johnson, giving the lavender scented bear to his daughter, who hugged it tight, all the while looking at the sender as if hugging her thanks to him.

Alan may have misgivings about the whole adventure being too much for his fragile daughter, but he was a decent man, and hospitality had rules that must be obeyed. He offered his visitor a drink.

Al wasn't bothered about having coffee; he'd had one with breakfast. But the kitchen area was a good few feet away from where Sam was sitting. They may be able to exchange a few words with Johnson out of earshot. So he graciously accepted the offer as he took his seat in a matching pale blue armchair close to Sam's head.

Johnson kept one eye on the stranger as he made his way to the kitchen. It was open-plan, so he wasn't exactly leaving his daughter alone with the man.

"Al, this is amazing, it's so _wonderful_ to have you here!" Sam was keeping his voice low, as he was accustomed to doing when Al was invisible to those around him. Inside, he was screaming his happiness from the rooftops.

"It's good to be here, buddy," smiled Al, "It'd be even better if we could get rid of your over-sized, over-protective chaperon there. He nodded subtly toward the huge man in the kitchen.

"Tell me about it!" sighed Sam, "There's so much I want to say to you, to ask you…" Sam paused. There it was again, that nagging feeling that there was something he needed to know, someone he needed to ask about.

"And so little time," Al mused with him, as they heard the percolator popping.

"Al," Sam began, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you, but I can't seem to recall exactly. Do you remember during the fire you mentioned a name…?"

'Uh, oh,' thought Al, who remembered his blunder only too well. "No. What name, Sam?" he tried to plead ignorance, hoping that a good helping of Swiss cheese with a side order of M.E. would keep Sam from getting any closer.

Sam's brow furrowed in concentration, the way it did just before he had a brainstorm. "It began with A, just like Allie, but it wasn't her you were talking about."

"Oh," Al tried to keep one step ahead, Sam would do himself no favors by remembering, "It must have been Alan; Mr. Johnson. You had to get him out, remember?"

Sam was not so easily put off, now the nagging little feeling was growing, and the more he thought about it, the more important it felt for him to know. "No, Al, it was someone else, a woman, I'm sure it was a woman's name…" Al could almost see the cogs of Sam's brains turning as he tried to recall. Suddenly, Al was glad that Alan Johnson was coming back with his coffee. Sam would have to switch back into "Allie" persona and hopefully forget this line of enquiry again.

"Heads up, Sam, Daddy on your six, closing fast," Al muttered under his breath, and then he tried to bring the conversation round to something Johnson would expect to hear. "My Tina, uh, my assistant will draw up a schedule for filming, but we'll keep it flexible in case you aren't up to it at any time."

Sam took up his cue, but another set of questions bubbled up in his brain, and he couldn't help but roll with them.

"You guys are getting married while you're here, you said? How long have you been engaged?"

"Just over a week!" Al grinned broadly. Sam gave him a look that seemed to query if his friend was rushing things a bit.

Alan Johnson looked at the Italian again, his opinion of him not enhanced by what he was hearing. The woman he'd seen looked more like his daughter than his fiancée. She obviously wasn't as young as she liked to pretend, with all that 'obvious flaunting' and excessive make-up. A floozy, his own parents would have called her, and the cap fitted in his mind. Still, she couldn't be more than late thirties, forty at the most, whereas the old man – although sprightly and wearing his years well - could have been anywhere from 60 to 80, but not a jot less. It just confirmed his view that 'TV people' were no better than 'movie people,' and they were all a bunch of spoilt, self-obsessed socialites with low morals and bad habits.

At that moment, Tina knocked on the door, and Alan went to let her in. He wondered what they saw in each other, but decided he'd never understand their type, so it was a waste of time trying.

While he was again out of earshot, Al couldn't resist teasing Sam, as well as keeping him from returning to his dangerous recollections.

"I'm afraid in that aura I can't ask you to be my best man, Sam, but Tina says she has an opening for a bridesmaid!" He grinned wickedly as Sam blushed.

"I think I'll pass, thank you." Sam spoke through gritted teeth.

"Pass?" Tina queried, sitting on the arm of the chair Al was in, though Alan glared at her. She had a notepad and pen with her, to help with the image.

"On being your bridesmaid," Al nudged her and winked.

"Oh, but you must!" Tina squealed with delight. The idea was outrageous and such fun. Al had already made it clear how much it would mean to him to have his best friend attend their wedding. That was how he'd talked her into this rushed arrangement, with no engagement party and with none of their other friends in attendance. Truth to tell, she liked the idea of Sam being there too. Getting "Allie" to be her bridesmaid was the perfect excuse to have a supposed stranger involved in the whole thing, and more especially, in the photos. They may show young Allie to the world, but **they** would know it had been Sam. It was delicious.

"I simply won't take no for an answer." Tina was bubbling over with excitement. "I even know **just** the dress, it'll go like, beautifully with mine, it's candy floss pink and simply adorable! Oh wait a minute - that might clash with your red hair; maybe we better go for the peppermint green. Yes, perfect! - I can go get it for you this afternoon. We're getting married in the morning, on a yacht at dawn. The Marina is only just over the road from here, so you won't have too tiring a journey."

Down by his side, Sam was clenching his fist. How could his so-called friends humiliate him like this? He looked to Alan to forbid it, feeling sure he'd have an ally in the protective parent.

Unfortunately, his confidence was misplaced. "I'm sure I'll never understand you media folks and your weird relationships," he told them straight, "but I guess that's between the two of you. I **do** know how much my little punkin has always dreamed of being a bridesmaid, and her Uncle Josh doesn't look like giving her the opportunity any time soon. I don't have the heart to deny her, just so long…"

"As she doesn't overdo it!" Al and Tina finished with him. Sam glowered at them.

"You'll come along too and be a witness, won't you, Mr. Johnson?" Tina asked sweetly. "We don't know anyone in Bunbury. Our families are all Stateside."

"You couldn't keep me away." Alan replied honestly.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Nineteen**

Before Sam could change Alan's mind, the phone in the room rang, and he went to answer it.

Sam turned to the couple and tried hard not to explode. "How _could_ you?" he growled lowly.

Al looked from his best friend to his bride-to-be, slightly uncomfortably. "I was only teasing, Sam, but since Tina's up for it, I gotta confess it'd be great to have you in the wedding party. You can't be the other witness cos Allie's too young. Go on Sam, be a sport and I promise I won't let Tina go overboard with your make-up." Though he genuinely felt for Sam's embarrassment, he had to stifle a giggle at the thought.

Tina squeezed his cheeks and assured him, "Just enough to hide the black eye. How about I promise no high heels? You can even go barefoot if you like."

Sam looked over at where Alan was speaking into the phone. He didn't look happy, and though they couldn't hear what he was saying, from the tone of his voice he was far from pleased by whatever news he was being given. Turning back to Al, Sam said with a sigh, "I don't suppose I have a choice with you three ganging up on me. But you owe me for this, Al – big time!"

"Well actually, pal, not that I'm keeping score or anything, but..." Al grinned.

Sam just surrendered, "Fine, whatever!"

At that moment Alan Johnson raised his voice to the person on the other end of the phone, "No. You don't **understand**. We have visitors, I can't just leave my daughter alone w…"

Tina stood up, winked at Al, and sidled over towards Alan Johnson. "What's wrong, can we help?" she purred sweetly. Sam shot a quizzical look at Al, who just shrugged his shoulders, looking as bemused as his friend.

"Oh, pardon me," Alan put his hand over the mouthpiece while he addressed his guest, "It's just that somebody has contacted the management. Apparently they saw someone stealing my rental car!"

"How terrible!" Tina put a hand to her throat, "It seems no-where's safe from thieves these days."

Al stood as well, "You need to deal with it, sir, or they may think you were involved, you know, an insurance swindle or something?" He warned. His years of experience with Sam's leaping gave him insight into how situations could turn a victim into a suspect.

Alan blanched, he hadn't thought of that.

"Don't worry, I'll take very good care of my little bridesmaid until you get back." Tina promised, practically ushering him out of the door.

"Th-thank you," Alan mumbled, with the uncertain look of one who'd been hit by a Confounding spell.

Tina shut the door behind him, and skipped back over to the others, "Like a charm!" she beamed.

"You wanna let us in on what that was all about?" Al asked.

"Don't worry, I only parked it a couple of streets away, he'll have it back soon."

" **You** _stole_ his car?" Sam was genuinely shocked.

"With a little help from Ziggy to bypass the immobilizer," Tina handed Al back the hand-link he hadn't even realized she'd borrowed. "Hotwiring a car is like, not that much different to rewiring Zig's mainframe!" Tina giggled gleefully.

"Why?" both men asked at once.

"To give **you two** time _alone_ together, _which_ you're wasting!" Tina shot back, trotting tactfully into the kitchen area to help herself to a coffee from the percolator.

"That's my girl!" Al nodded approvingly, as Sam struggled to his feet, more amazed by the minute at this most unusual of leaps.

Al instinctively reached out to help steady his friend, since the M.E. was making Sam shaky on his feet. He caught Sam by the elbow, their eyes met in realization that the contact was again real, and in an instant they had pulled each other into an honest-to-goodness best-buddy embrace, slapping each other on the back and laughing like they were at a high school reunion.

"Oh, God, Al, it's **so** _good_ to have you here!" Sam said when he'd caught his breath, pulling back a little to drink in the sight of his friend standing solid before him, but still clutching him by the shoulders, as if afraid that if he let go, Al would vanish into the insubstantiality of a dream. "It's the next best thing to being home." Sam breathed, not bothering to fight the tears that were forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Well, you could act just a **bit** more pleased to see me!" teased Al, receiving a thump on his upper arm by way of retribution, which he accepted cheerfully.

For a few minutes, they just reveled in each other's company, chatting about mundane things, Sam asking questions about folks back home that Al wouldn't answer, then discussing the impending wedding and how it had come about.

Gradually they had moved to sit next to each other on the couch, horsing around and exchanging playful slaps and punches as they teased each other, just because they could.

After a while Tina took her coffee and set up position by the window, so that she could warn them if Alan was about to return. As she passed, Sam reached out and gently grasped her wrist.

"Thank you, Tina!" he breathed, kissing her on the back of her hand. They both knew he was thanking her for more than the ruse with Alan. This hook-up with Al was only possible because she had agreed to drop everything and get married in Australia, without any of her own friends around her. Sam figured that – much as he loathed the idea – he probably owed her a bridesmaid after all.

"My pleasure, hon!" Tina winked, bending to kiss him on the cheek, then backing off to leave them to their reunion.

**Los Angeles**

**A basement room**

He looked up slowly, not wanting to move his head too much. It hurt. Most of him hurt.

He really hoped he was alone in the room, but various sounds filtering through from his ears to his fuzzy brain suggested that both the people he most wanted **not** to be there – though for opposite reasons – were indeed with him.

Blinking slowly, Bill Donahue screwed up his eyes, and then opened them again, attempting to force them to focus. What he saw made him wish he could close them again and wake up to find he was dreaming.

Several feet in front of him, mirroring his own position – which was tied up to a wooden chair – was his wife, Caitlin.

The other person was behind him, but the terrified look on his wife's face was enough to tell him that he'd correctly identified the individual who'd attacked them, and thrown his semi-conscious body violently into the back of a van.

"Awake at last?" the strongly accented voice was soft yet menacing in his ear. The feel of cold steel against his throat accompanied it.

"No!" shrieked Caitlin, tears streaming down her face, "Leave him alone! We've done nothing to you!"

Bill tensed, not daring to move, or even to breathe too deeply. The tip of a stiletto blade was pressing on his Adam's apple, so he resisted the urge to swallow too. He wanted to reassure his wife, but he daren't try to speak.

"If-a you wanna me to leave him alone," Guido Ruggiero leaned in toward his victim, moving the knife and carefully drawing just a few drops of blood from a tiny nick on the side of his neck, making Caitlin scream, "tell-a me what I wanna to know."

"Please," she begged, "we'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt us."

Caitlin feared for her life, and for the life of her husband. She also feared for her children, not knowing if they were prisoners too somewhere, or if they would soon find themselves orphans.

It had started out as a pleasant Saturday morning, much like many others. Their friends Frank and Mary had taken their boys – Sean and Patrick – out with their own family – Frank Junior, Jenny, and their youngest, Lizzie, who was only a few days younger than Patrick. It was nothing major, just kids hanging out together. It was an excuse for Bill and Cat to take their twin girls – Sinead and Siobhan - shopping for party frocks, since their fifth birthday was only a couple of weeks away. The boys had declared such a trip 'mega boring' and had been allowed to escape it. At least, Caitlin hoped, that meant they were safe at Mary's house right now.

The twins' fate was much less certain. They had just arrived home from the Mall and were getting their purchases out of the car in the garage.

Caitlin loved their new place even more than the old apartment where they had begun their married life. Following that dreadful business back in '95 when their friend David Beckett had almost died exposing their bosses' secret drugs factory, their new employer had given them all a sizeable raise in salary. Hence, when Caitlin gave birth to the twins in '98, it hadn't been a problem to move to a bigger place. It may not be palatial, but it was a far cry from being cramped in a two-bed apartment with four kids. And it was home - a place where she had felt safe and secure.

Only today it had not been safe at all.

Before they knew what was happening, someone had grabbed her from behind, forcing a foul-smelling cloth over her face that made it impossible to breathe. In the seconds before she passed out, Caitlin had seen her husband rush forward to her defense, only to be struck on the side of the head with something long and shiny and heavy, that could have been a tire lever. He must have hit the floor moments after she did.

When she'd woken, it had been to find that they were tied to wooden chairs in a dingy dusty old basement, heaven knew where. She could see her husband a few feet in front of her, his head lolling on his chest, a huge angry bruise on his temple. She could not turn in her chair to see what was behind her, but of her precious daughters there was neither sight nor sound. She didn't know which scared her more, the thought of this monster holding them captive, or the idea that they were wandering around alone at home, or in the street, frightened and frantic for want of their parents.

Caitlin had no idea how long they had been unconscious, but initially it had seemed they were alone in the room. She had spoken, softly at first, to try and wake her husband, but he remained unresponsive. She had called to her girls, in case they were behind her, trying to sound reassuring although in truth she was terrified. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or more worried that they didn't answer.

She had tried to struggle against her bonds, attempting to free herself and thence her husband, but her efforts had only tightened the ropes around her wrists and ankles, and ultimately resulted in her tipping her chair over. Her knee and shoulder had taken the worst of the impact, and both were now bruised and sore.

The bang, and her subsequent cry of pain had brought their captor down the basement steps loudly and hurriedly. She had shrunk away from his approach, though she knew she could not retreat.

Though the light was poor in the cellar, she had recognized the massive frame at once. This huge man was the very same who had shot her husband not six weeks ago. Bill had needed emergency surgery, an appendectomy, and pints and pints of blood. The scar was still visible.

Bill had not been the intended target of course, David Beckett was the one he bore a grudge against, but that had been little consolation to Caitlin as she'd sat through the long night praying her husband wouldn't die. Thank the Lord her prayers had been answered. She was silently saying a few more now.

The big man had righted her chair, and checked her ropes. Caitlin whimpered, avoiding eye contact with the beast. Mercifully, he'd done no more, moving over to make sure her husband had not gotten loose.

It was at this point that Bill had come-to.

**Bunbury**

Sam was in high spirits. He couldn't remember when he had last been this happy. Most guys would think a casual chat with a friend to be a normal –fairly dull – everyday occurrence. Yet for Sam, the ability to just talk to Al and be himself, without pretense, without seeming to be out of his mind, was as wonderful as it was rare. It didn't even matter what they were talking about.

Thus it was that he couldn't have said, afterwards, what brought the conversation to a point that triggered the illusive name that had hovered at the edge of his dulled memory since the fire. Whatever it was, the memory was suddenly very clear. He not only recalled Al saying something about Abigail breaking her hip, but he was flooded with vivid memories of being with Abigail, and how he had felt about her. Snatches of conversations played back in his mind…

" _She's incredible Al. Her eyes, her face, her hair the way it smells, and… And her skin…"_

" _She's so beautiful, Al…"_

" _I'm in trouble, Al."_

" **What trouble?"**

" _I don't know what to do… I… I want her. I want her so bad it's killing me. I can't think of anything else except holding her and… and touching her, tasting her and smelling her hair. I feel like she belongs to me. And that's all that matters."_

" **What matters is that you ARE Sam Beckett! That's the reason you got this crazy job!"**

" _It's not fair."_

" **All right. It's not fair. It's not fair. Life isn't fair. Whoever said it was fair?"**

" _Oh, don't stand there and tell me that life isn't fair, Al."_

" **You're here to save Abigail. You've saved her once before and you've got to do it again. That's it."**

" _Why me?"_

" **Because you're a hero."**

" _Even heroes are human."_

The intensity of his obsession – for such it had been – consumed him once again. He could almost smell her, taste her, now. He could see her lovely face before his eyes; feel how wonderfully her body had melded with his, 'til they were as one. A breath caught in his throat.

"Oh, my God, Al, Abigail. **Abigail!** I remember. I remember _everything!_ "

Then it was Al's turn to give a startled gasp. He'd been hoping to avoid this, but he could see in Sam's eyes that he wouldn't be distracted again so easily, nor yet at all.

"You said she broke her hip, Al. When? How? Is she okay now?" The questions tumbled out of him, even as wild impossible thoughts filled his head. He was in the present, he could go to her, be with her, make sweet love to her. He did not consider that he was in the aura of a teenage girl, that he was halfway across the world, that she was married, that she didn't know Sam from Adam, that the whole idea was preposterous. He thought of nothing but how much he wanted her, how much he belonged with her. This time it wasn't the M.E. that kept him from thinking clearly, it was sheer infatuation.

" _I love you. No matter what happens or whatever I say in the future, just know that in this brief moment of time we belong to each other. Please know that."_

Time had ripped them apart, but they could have more moments together now. The thought was an addiction to him; nothing else mattered but being with Abigail.

He barely registered Al's tale of Abigail's fall, which his friend had tried to play down, hoping to allay Sam's concerns and end the matter.

Sam started to suggest that he should go to her, even starting to rise from the couch. Al kindly and patiently pointed out all the things he had not considered, bringing the Leaper back to Earth with a thud of disappointment.

"I can call her, though!" Sam stubbornly and irrationally insisted, pointing toward the phone. "I can talk to her!" Al could see how excited Sam was at the prospect, notwithstanding all the same objections about her having no idea who he really was.

"She'll know, Al. I'm sure she'll know, deep down in her heart. After what we shared…"

"Sam…" Al began, but he wasn't listening.

"What's the number, Al?" Sam had the excited look of a kid on Christmas morning.

"Sam," Al very gently put a hand on his best friend's shoulder and eased him back into his seat. There was no escape, he would have to tell the whole truth, and break his buddy's heart.

Al turned toward him and nervously cleared his throat, "Sam, listen to me…"

Sam bubbled a moment longer, then caught the serious look in Al's eye, and read the body language.

"Al?" His own eyes searched Al's face again, hoping he'd misread it, and then he turned to look pleadingly at Tina, hoping against hope that she would rekindle the flicker of optimism he'd held. Tina shook her head sadly and turned to look back out of the window. She knew he was going to be grief-stricken at what Al was about to tell him.

That was an understatement. He was devastated. Sam couldn't remember when he had last been this miserable.

He demanded every detail, in such a way that Al knew he could hold nothing back, though the more Sam heard, the more downhearted he felt. By the time Al had finished, Sam's face was soaked with tears, and he was trembling with emotion. His heart ached fit to burst, and Sam was minded to the opinion that it would be a blessing if it did. He was inconsolable.

Feeling his friend's pain, Al's hand found his shoulder again, knowing it was scant comfort and that there was nothing he could say or do to make it any better.

"It's not fair, Al!' Sam wailed mournfully, and on impulse Al drew him into a hug.

Sam sobbed into his shoulder. Al gave him the handkerchief from his breast pocket and Sam found the simple gesture really touching.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Al spoke softly, "I was hoping you wouldn't remember. It was careless of me to let her name slip…"

"No, Al," Sam sniffed, "I hate not being part of the Project, I hate missing out on what's going on; it makes me feel so isolated. I _want_ to know things – and that means the bad as well as the good." An indistinct memory hovered just out of reach again, "I'm sure I've told you this before."

Al was reminded clearly of the strange circumstances that had led Sam to 'seeing' Gushie's bloody demise. Why couldn't Sam pick up on the happy stuff?

"If only I could _control_ my leaps," Sam slammed his fist into his leg in frustration, "I could leap back and save her, uh them." Sam corrected himself. Much as he wanted Abigail for himself, she evidently loved her husband Phillip, and Sam couldn't have let her be widowed if it should come to be in his power to prevent it. Her happiness was paramount, even if it meant giving her to another man. He had taken the first step in letting her go, but it shouldn't be like this, "If ever there was a wrong that needed to be put right…"

"I know, buddy, I know. I'm with you 100 per cent on that one." Al concurred. When Sam leaped out of Allie's life, with any luck his memory would Swiss cheese again and he would forget this misery. Yet Al silently prayed that GFTW would agree about the injustice, and put Sam where he needed to be to redress the situation. Though Sam hadn't mentioned her, may not have remembered her through the brain fog, there was also Abigail and Sam's daughter, Sammi-Jo who shouldn't have lost her mother and stepfather like that. One more wrong that could be righted.

"Watch out," warned Tina, "Here comes Daddy." She scooted across the room and positioned herself next to Allie on the other side from Al. Tina still found it weird, knowing it was Sam, but seeing the frail girl. Taking out her own hankie, she wiped the tear-stained face, and pulled Sam over 'til she was hugging "Allie" to her bosom.

"Oh, Al, I loved her **so** much!" Sam was sighing sadly as the door opened.

Alan's face had been radiating his relief that the car situation had finally been sorted out. Taking in the scene before him, his expression became one of instant concern, and not a little anger.

"What's wrong, punkin? Have these people been upsetting you?" He glared at them, as if to say that if she replied in the affirmative they could look forward to being forcefully ejected from the apartment, agreement to co-operate or not.

Al thought quickly, catching Tina's eye in a silent command to play along. Sam was wearing the dolphin necklace he'd rescued from the blazing building.

"My fiancée didn't mean to distress Allie," Al apologized, "She merely admired your daughter's pendant. Allie was telling us about how her mother had made it for her, and I guess it stirred up some sad memories for her. I'm very sorry."

"I really meant no harm," Tina confirmed, standing and smiling sweetly at the big man, "I didn't realize…"

Sam took up his queue, swallowing down his melancholy to take on his enforced role once more, "It's okay, honest," he wiped his eyes and forced a smile, the last thing he wanted was for his friends to be banished, "I just, y'know, I **really** miss her." If Alan had overheard his comment about Abigail, he would naturally assume that Allie had been talking about her Mum. Al had cleverly played on the association, and hopefully Alan wouldn't suspect a thing.

"Of course you do, punkin." Alan empathized. Then he turned to his guests, "I accept you meant no harm, but I think you should both leave now. My daughter has obviously worn herself out, and if you want her at your wedding at some unearthly hour in the morning, she's going to need plenty of rest today."

Sam looked sadly at Al. Their reunion had not been the joyous occasion he had anticipated. Still, it had been all too short, and he was loath to see it come to an end like this. On the other hand, his wide mood swings and deep despair had indeed worn him out as Alan observed. He cursed the restrictions that severe M.E. placed on him, but he was powerless to fight them. Reluctantly, he made his farewells, "I guess you won't want a puffy-eyed bridesmaid," he told Tina, only fleetingly hoping that it was a get-out clause.

Tina gave him a big hug, knowing it would look wrong if Al did and sensing Sam's need for one last physical contact before they parted.

"I'll be back with your dress, and we'll get you all glammed-up. You'll look pretty as a picture." Tina couldn't help addressing the Allie she saw, not meaning to be mean to the Sam she knew was inside.

"I'm looking forward to it already," Sam's grin was part grimace, but he _was_ eagerly anticipating attending Al's wedding, even if it meant him doing the Barbie-doll bit to get there.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty**

**Los Angeles**

Caitlin guessed at once what Ruggiero wanted to know, but they had no answers for him. She seriously doubted if either one of them would survive the night.

Bill felt the trickle of warm blood on his neck, and wondered if he were destined to have his throat cut from ear to ear. It was not a pleasant image, but more than the fear for his own life was the horrifying thought that Cat may have to witness him dying violently like that.

"You have me," he pointed out to his captor, "Please, let my wife go."

"Oh I don't think so." Ruggiero chuckled. It was an ugly sound. He moved past Bill's chair and slowly approached Cat.

"Leave her alone!" Bill tried to sound commanding, but it came out as a desperate plea. He shifted his weight in an attempt to trip Ruggiero as he passed. The huge man easily sidestepped the crude attempt to impede him, and laughed again as Bill and the chair crashed to the floor. Bill grunted in pain as he landed awkwardly. Cat screamed her husband's name.

"Shaddup you noise!" ordered Ruggiero harshly, raising his hand as if to strike her.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Bill yelled defiantly.

"How **you** gonna stop me?" sneered the olive-skinned ogre, but the blow didn't land.

"Does it make you feel big, beating up women?" challenged Bill.

Ruggiero rounded on him, and kicked him swiftly in the stomach where he lay. Bill expelled an explosive coughing breath and screwed his eyes up against the pain. Cat screamed his name again.

"Bill, please, don't! He'll kill you!"

"Listen to your wife, Mr. Donahue, and you can both leave here alive. I have no desire to hurt either one of you."

"Then please, let us go." Cat pleaded, "Our children…"

"Tell me where your friend Beckett is, and you can be reunited with your bambini."

There, he'd said it. Cat knew it was coming.

"Please, Mr. Ruggiero sir, you **have** to believe us, we don't **know** where David is - honestly we don't. After you, ah, after Bill got shot, David took a new job and left town. He didn't tell anyone where he went, not even us. He said we'd be safer **not** knowing."

"Then he was-a wrong. I cannot let you go until I know where he is."

"My wife just told you," Bill repeated, "We don't know. We can't _tell_ you what we don't _know_."

"Perhaps I can refresh-a your memory," an evil grin spread across the huge man's face. In one swift movement he picked up Bill Donahue, chair and all, and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to fling him across the room like a Frisbee. Instead, he placed him upright even closer to Cat than he had been before. Suddenly, the knife was back in his hand, and back at Bill's throat. His other hand was pulling Bill's head back by the hair, exposing even more of the throat to the blade. He made a tiny nick on the opposite side of Bill's neck, so that he had matching streaks of red trickling down.

"Wanna tell me something now, Mrs. D? Or shall I play join da dots on Billy boy's neck?"

Cat was sobbing hard, "Please. There's nothing I _can_ tell you. We don't know. I swear to you we don't know, _please_ , don't cut him any more."

"Mebbe you right," Cat breathed a sigh of relief as Ruggiero withdrew the stiletto blade from Bill's neck. "He no talka too well with his throat cut. Mebbe I just take-a da finger instead." So saying he grabbed Bill's right hand where it was tied by the wrist to the chair, and forced him to flatten his fingers against the wood. Then he scored a bone-deep cut across the top knuckle of the little finger, as if marking it ready to carve. Bill winced, not daring to try and pull his hand away lest he sustain a worse injury in the attempt.

" **NO**!" shrieked Cat, horrified. "I beg you, please, for pity's sake. How can I make you believe me? We have no idea where David is."

"You are good friends to try to protect him. Especially after he got-a you shot." Ruggiero jabbed Bill in the side with his fist, right on the sight of his scar. Bill cried out in pain, Cat sobbed louder.

"Mebbe **you** tell me," Ruggiero suggested to Bill, simultaneously moving round behind Cat and pulling her head back by the hair. He didn't push his knife to her throat, but they didn't know how long it might be until he did.

"Get your filthy hands off her, you coward." Bill threatened recklessly. "I swear, I'd tell you if I could. I _don't_ **know**. We haven't seen him in weeks." Pain and anger and fear were making Bill breathless.

In fact, Ruggiero had no intention of cutting Cat Donahue. He was capable of doing whatever it took to Bill, just as he'd shown no mercy to that interfering upstart David Beckett, but his Momma had raised him to have more respect for a lady. Of course, Bill didn't need to know that. He'd display just enough of a ruthless streak to make the doting husband believe the little woman was in peril, in hopes he'd sing like a canary. But if it came to it, he'd take out his frustrations on the man, and make the woman talk to protect him.

Only so far, neither one of them was talking. He'd deliberately been vague about whether or not he had their precious little daughters captive. He hadn't, for the same reason he wouldn't cut Cat, but if they _thought_ he had, then that could be enough of an advantage. He was a brilliant strategist, if he said so himself.

**Bunbury**

**Very early Sunday morning**

Sam had endured Tina fussing with Allie's long auburn hair, and putting on foundation and nail polish and lipstick, but had drawn the line at mascara.

All the while she applied their beauty treatment; Tina was talking girlie bridal stuff, seemingly forgetting that it wasn't the real Allie there with her. Sam listened politely, knowing that she was talking partly to cover her nervousness.

He was genuinely interested when she told him she would have actually preferred a beach wedding.

"A bit difficult on the West coast!" he pointed out, teasingly.

"Well, yeah, hence the yacht," Tina agreed, "Besides, it's not the most glamorous beach in the world, is it? There are better ones a ways along the coast, I've been told," she went on, "but this woman I was talking to when I went back into town for your outfit said a couple of weeks back they had like a heat-wave, and it was like 42 degrees by 10am. She said it would have been like walking on hot coals, and that's no way to start a marriage is it?"

Sam had to admit it wasn't, though past history suggested some of Al's previous marriages had been exactly like that. He tactfully didn't voice his thought.

Tina helped him to dress in the thankfully more demure version of her own wedding dress, which was typical Tina in it's flaunting of her assets. They had put flowers in their hair, and in lieu of a bouquet Tina had placed a huge white dahlia corsage on her wrist. Now Tina was admiring the results in the full-length mirror in the yacht's master cabin.

"You look adorable," Tina declared.

Sam scowled. "I look ridiculous." He countered, counting his blessings that the location of the wedding allowed him to wear flat sandals rather than high-heeled shoes from Hell, as per her promise.

He'd spent the intervening hours since their previous meeting in abject misery or restless slumbers and he felt pretty awful. Still he'd washed the tearstains from his face and put cold water on his puffy eyes, and promised to smile through the ceremony, even though his heart was still heavy.

Thankfully, Al's ruse had meant he could mourn openly rather than in secret, and although Alan's words of comfort were based on the wrong woman's demise, he had still been a source of considerable consolation.

To add to Sam's sorrow, he'd been acutely aware of Al's proximity, and yet the hours had ticked by without any hope of spending any of them in each other's company. He was sure that he was seeing a lot less of Al than when he usually popped in through the Imaging Chamber seemingly whenever he was needed. It was like the Observer had some uncanny knack of knowing when Sam could use a friend, and appeared on cue. Now his friend should have been more accessible than ever, yet Alan was making sure Al was kept at bay, and it was infuriatingly frustrating. It had started out as a wonderfully uplifting idea, but it had become a bitterly disappointing reality. He felt lonelier than ever.

Even the journey to their current anchor point had not afforded much contact.

They'd met as arranged – by phone – at the pens in the Marina, and located the 17-meter motor yacht, which Al had hired for the trip. It was one of the largest there, and very impressive. The shiny white vessel was bedecked with lights, not just the normal ones that made her visible in the dark waters at night, but a string of tiny lights had been woven round the handrails each side, interspersed with white blossoms in honor of the occasion. The wheelhouse stood high and proud toward the stern of the boat; leaving a large flat deck at the bow where the ceremony could take place. Sam had to admit it looked very romantic.

Al and Tina were already waiting for them when they arrived, but before he could say two words to his friend, Tina explained that as it was well after midnight, it was technically their wedding day, and so Al shouldn't really be seeing her. She ushered 'Allie' to the main cabin, while Al took Alan to the smaller cabin next door, to make their respective preparations for the nuptials, while the yacht put out to sea – just far enough to afford them a spectacular sunrise backdrop to the climax of the ceremony.

Sam was starting to feel claustrophobic in the cabin, though it was generously proportioned, and comfortable and elegant, with polished wood paneled floor and walls, and soft white upholstery. He was also anxious to get out of 'girlie mode' and back to being with his buddy. He'd play his part as agreed, but he didn't have to like it.

It was more than the outfit that made him uncomfortable. Sam also felt guilty that the real Allie would have loved playing bridesmaid, and yet would have no memory of the event. He felt as if he was robbing her of the experience, much as he had Butchie with the Buffalo chimps. Strange that he should recall that particular leap now, but it seemed to him an apt comparison. He'd always felt that his role in leaping was to spare the leapee from the bad stuff, not to sneak in and supplant them when precious memories were being forged. Sam would have felt far happier if he could have immediately surrendered the bridesmaid role to the real Allie and instead found some nice quiet bar in which to share a couple of cold beers for an understated stag night for Al. It was too late for any of that now though.

Tina could tell what Sam was feeling, and as she put Allie's corsage on Sam's wrist she held onto his hand for longer than was strictly necessary. "You'll soon see Al again, honey," she promised, leaning over to kiss him gently on the cheek, "Now, give me a smile." She gently pulled on both cheeks as if she could mould them into a happy pose. Sam grinned half-heartedly. He sighed.

"Sorry, Tina, I won't ruin your big day, I promise." Sam made more of an effort to show a genuine smile. "You look stunning," he told her sincerely, "you're gonna knock Al's socks off!"

"Barefoot is fine with me!" Tina teased, checking her outfit for the twentieth time to make sure everything was just right.

The ensemble consisted of a bikini type top that was two large quilted satin clamshells held on with a fine plaited cord around her back and in a halter neck. Over this (and the third clamshell that constituted her lower body lingerie) went a plunging, cleavage-revealing, halter neck dress in a fine soft see-through lace that was patterned with tiny shells and fish and dolphins. The hem, which was a good 6 inches above her knees, was edged with gentle waves of embroidery, and the ties at the neck flowed down her back in two billowy trains that reached her knees. Atop this revealing garment she wore an ankle length brilliant white cotton lawn sarong that clung in folds across her hips and wafted down around her legs, giving her the look of a Greek goddess. As she walked, her long luscious legs alternately peeked out tantalizingly from between the folds of the sarong, showing dainty sandals that were held on with fine silky threads that criss-crossed around her ankles, and accentuated her height.

Her hair was piled high at the back, and three small white dahlias perched in front of the large curls like a silly little hat on Ladies day at Ascot. The flower on her wrist finished the vision of loveliness that was Tina.

"Allie's" outfit was a soft peppermint green, and the revealing lace was replaced with subtler chiffon that was finely ruched to the point where no bare flesh could be seen through it. The bridesmaid's under-dress was full length like the sarong that topped it. Only the merest glimpse of the delicate sandals could be seen when this titian haired goddess walked. Identical hairstyle and floral accessories completed the look.

Tina was once more tweaking her sarong, making sure the opening was positioned just right to show the most leg when she traveled along the 'aisle', without being indecent.

"Nervous?" Sam queried, though the answer was obvious.

"I'd kill for a stick of gum, but it doesn't really go with the image, does it?" Tina replied, sweeping her hand down her body.

Sam laughed, not raucously, but with genuine mirth, "Not really!"

"That's better, hon." Tina smiled and, being careful not to squash their blooms, she hugged him again.

A gentle tapping at the door made them pull apart.

Alan stuck his head round and announced, "Time to go, or the sun'll be up."

"You'll be fine," whispered Sam, giving Tina's hand a quick squeeze for reassurance.

**Al's cabin**

The groom was pacing the floor like an expectant father. He was ready in his dress whites, and had checked his pocket twenty times to be sure he had the ring. He'd never done this without benefit of the calming influence of a best man before, and he really wished he had Sam there now to fulfill the role. It was impossible of course, given how Sam looked to the world, but Al missed him nonetheless. He missed him more than words could express.

For the actual ceremony, Peter Brookes, the Captain of the Yacht – aptly named "Amore" – had agreed to take on the role, and to be the second witness, but it wasn't the same as having a friend by your side, especially not your best friend. Even more so because he was so tantalizingly close.

This was his sixth time as a groom, yet Al was still as nervous as he had been every time before. It never got any easier. He was starting to wonder why he was putting himself through it. Hadn't he and Tina been fine the way they were?

Al checked his watch again. Too late to back out now, and besides, he didn't fancy swimming back to shore with Tina snapping at his heels like her pet croc. No, it was time to head up on deck to the waiting celebrant. At least he had a friendly face there, as a sailor's luck would have it.

Australian law demanded one month's 'notice of intent' to be lodged with the person who will perform the wedding ceremony. Some crafty intervention from Ziggy circumnavigated this condition, made easier by the fact that the local clergyman turned out to be the Minister son of the Navy Chaplain who'd served with Al on his last tour of duty. He'd been but a toddler when they'd headed out, and still not really old enough to understand why when the news reached his mother that his father had died in captivity. When he finally got home, one of the sad duties Al insisted on performing personally was to contact the family and tell them of the Chaplain's courage in his final days, and how much of a comfort he had been to the other POWs. They had corresponded for years until the mother died and the son emigrated, and Al found himself without a forwarding address.

Seeing the name of Daniel Cochrane on the email confirming the booking had stirred memories in Al, even though he had initially thought it to be no more than coincidence. To discover it was indeed one and the same person as his old comrade's son was a true joy. Al had needed to provide proof of their identities, ages (like he looked under 18!) and that they were free to marry. The celebrant had no difficulty recognizing the unusual name of the groom as being his father's friend, and he was happy to officiate at this most unusual wedding.

So it was that the two men greeted each other warmly as they took their places at the bow of the fine white yacht.

While they waited for the bridal party to arrive, they caught up on each other's news, though Al made sure he did more listening than talking, since most of what he'd been involved in was classified. Daniel did comment on the fact that the groom had produced evidence of _five_ previous marriages being terminated.

"Hey. You gotta give me credit for 'getting back in the saddle' at least," Al chuckled, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Let's hope this one's the 'keeper', eh?" Daniel responded.

"They **all** were, _when_ I married 'em!" Al shot back, adding wistfully under his breath, 'especially the first'.

Al shook off the rush of memories. Today was Tina's day, precipitated at least partially by her jealousy of Ruthie. The last thing he needed was to slip up and say Beth's name when he took his vows, like he had at his second wedding. He'd almost had the shortest marriage in history, over before they left the church – an irate Hungarian bride is not a creature to be messed with. Truth be told, he didn't think she'd ever fully forgiven him for the blunder, and that probably contributed to the failure of the union. It had become a sort of automated response with him, the more that he tried to call her by name, the more Beth's name came to his lips and he had to bite it back, so much so that he'd developed a series of pet names to use instead. Not that he was new to that ruse. In his single days he'd used pet names many a time to avoid calling one girlfriend by another's name. It made juggling them that much easier, and sleep-talking less dangerous. His wife had not appreciated it though.

Al had no more time for musing, as Daniel, seeing the bride approaching, started the CD player to herald her in with the traditional music.

Since Tina had nobody on hand to 'give her away', Alan had doubled up in that role, and led her now down the 'aisle' – a narrow walkway between the wheelhouse and the railing. Luckily, the sea was calm, and did not pitch them about too much as they walked. Sam followed behind, bringing up the rear of the tiny procession.

Alan delivered the bride to Al's side. The Admiral turned to his intended and nodded appreciatively at her. 'Drop dead gorgeous' was an understatement; she was the most alluring sight he'd ever seen. Then he looked over his shoulder and winked at Sam, who gave him a martyred 'you owe me for this' look and then smiled.

Alan stepped aside to stand with the Captain as Daniel began the ceremony. He had to concede that the groom had gone up in his estimation when he'd seen the Dress Whites, and learned that Calavicci was a retired and much decorated Admiral. The man had served and suffered for his country – which was after all Alan's country too originally – and as such deserved his respect.

It was not Daniel's first offshore wedding, and he timed it perfectly so that the couple had just reached the exchanging of their vows as the sun burst over the horizon and through the wisps of purple tinted clouds in a glorious red and orange and golden dawn that turned the sea to honey and made a cornfield of the distant sand. Tina was evidently basking in the romance of it; she looked positively radiant.

Sam felt himself moved to tears again, but this time it was the joy of seeing his friends so happy, and the beauty of the occasion that made his eyes glisten. The specially written vows that they exchanged were extremely touching to the leaper too. The others may have thought them quaint or even 'schmaltzy', but Sam knew the circumstances behind the words, and thought them both perfectly apt and perfectly lovely.

Soon after however, Sam's emotions turned to embarrassment - just as the real Allie would probably have felt – when Al was told he could kiss the bride and did so with typical Italian gusto.

Alan rolled his eyes, and took a protective step closer to his daughter, trying to block her view of the shameless behavior. Sam discretely turned aside to pacify him, and gave all his attention to the brightening sunrise, which continued to paint the sky in glorious shades and fill the sea with subtle hues. It was a vista filled with splendor and magnificence. Sam felt privileged to witness it.

Once the ceremony was over, Tina decided that tradition should again be followed, and removed her corsage, which she threw over her shoulder as if it were a bouquet. Sam instinctively reached up to catch it, but being currently hampered by his adopted illness, he was woefully uncoordinated and just succeeded in batting the bloom high into the air and over the side of the yacht. The assembled group moved as one to the railing, expecting it to sink fairly rapidly. For a second or two it floated on the water, but before it could disappear beneath the waves, a grey snout broke the surface and butted it into the air again, tossing it playfully to one side. As the flower succumbed to gravity once more, a second snout leapt out of the water and caught it on the tip of her nose, both dolphins seeming to laugh at the sport they had found.

"Oh, aren't they adorable!" enthused Tina, watching as the second creature pushed the flower rapidly before it through the water, hotly pursued by the first.

They watched the dolphins cavorting with the bloom until they suddenly seemed to get bored, and took off rapidly further out to sea.

Sam had to agree that they were adorable. These were just like the dolphins he remembered swimming amongst once upon a leap, and he was filled with the same sense of peace and contentment and well being he'd experienced then. He was surer than ever that interaction with these gentle mammals would be of considerable and lasting benefit to Allie. He couldn't help wondering anew why the young lady in question had not resumed her life to enjoy the experience, and concluded that it had to be to allow him attend his best friend's wedding. Sam assumed he would be leaping very soon, probably once they returned to shore and all the formalities and photos had been finalized.

**Sometime later**

Alan wasn't interested in featuring in the memorializing of this odd couple's wedding, so he was the obvious choice to double up as photographer. He'd taken quite a few still shots and some short bursts of video footage on Al's digital camera whilst on the yacht, including the playful dolphins and the blossom, and some more as Al carried his bride ashore. Sam had insisted that Alan let the Captain take a couple of shots of the group aboard the yacht, because – "Allie" said - she wanted some pictures of her in her bridesmaid's outfit with her Daddy by her side. He'd indulged his daughter, of course. Sam felt it was the least he could do to make up for Allie missing out on an experience she'd have loved.

They were heading out of the Marina now, and back toward the apartments. Tina had Alan take a couple more pictures whenever she thought there was an interesting backdrop. When they stopped yet again, Sam on impulse took off his corsage and pulled the petals from the dahlia, throwing them over the couple like confetti. As requested, Alan caught the moment on camera.

It was fully light now, and more people were starting to stir abroad. At that moment, a mother walking with her toddler daughter was answering the child's enquiry as to what was happening and why they were littering. Being told that it was a wedding party, the girl piped up loudly, "Are they going on the Huggy-moon now then?"

The newlyweds and their entourage all laughed at this, even Alan Johnson. Al took the criticism to heart though, and insisted that they pick up the petals and dispose of them responsibly. "That's my Al!" commented Tina, approvingly and Sam nodded in agreement.

0o0

Sam was tired out by the time they got back to the apartment complex. It was the furthest he had walked in days. He felt good in himself though, for he'd shared in his friend's most joyous of days, and he was confident he'd be leaping soon and could shake off this dreadful malady that had plagued him. Standing on the grass, Alan handed back the camera and they prepared to go their separate ways. Sam, as Allie, thanked them for allowing 'her' to be a part of the wedding.

"I can't believe we're actually, like, _married_ , y'know?" Tina confided, looking at the rings on her finger.

"You better believe it, baby." Al waggled his eyebrows suggestively, then pulled Tina into another passionate embrace, and Tina was not shy in returning the display of affection.

"Get a room!" Sam muttered under his breath.

Al, used to communicating with Sam when the Leaper couldn't speak openly, heard the aside, and grinned broadly. He answered Sam as he'd answered the suggestion at the Zoo.

"Good idea!" he whispered back, sweeping Tina up in his arms and carrying her back to their apartment with a wink.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Monday 24th February 2003**

After the wedding, an exhausted Sam had slept most of Sunday away, and remembered little of the night. He awoke early on Monday morning, surprised to find himself still masquerading as Allie. This was to be the first morning she went down to the Dolphin Discovery Centre to meet with Carla, the woman who would take charge of her therapy sessions. Allie should be here to enjoy it for herself. Sam was convinced of it. He couldn't understand what more he needed to do, and he felt increasingly guilty at keeping Allie from experiencing her heart's desire.

By ten thirty, after his prescribed exercises, when he was up to his waist in the water in the Interaction Zone along with a half dozen other hopefuls, Sam was feeling even more that he didn't belong there. Someone had just spotted the first sign of approaching dolphins, and much as his own heart leapt at their approach, Allie was the one this had been arranged for. Allie was the one being filmed – for by now the genuine Channel-9 crew were in attendance, recording every aspect of Allie's therapy. He'd done all this for her, not for himself, and he wanted her to benefit from his efforts.

Al and Tina were watching from the shore; arm in arm and obviously in love. They were keeping their distance from the TV crew so that Alan wouldn't discover their ruse. Al had, like Sam, assumed his friend would have leapt out by now and the issue wouldn't arise, but they were winging it, just like they always did.

Al was frequently consulting with his hand link, hoping Ziggy would come up with a scenario that would get Allie back into her life, and Sam back to health and strength. It was unlikely that they would get much chance to spend more time alone together, so there was no real advantage to Sam sticking around.

As one of the dolphins nuzzled up to Sam, Ziggy squealed and imparted a totally unexpected fact.

"Sam's never gonna believe this one!" Al told Tina, who had to agree once she heard what Ziggy had learned.

Out in the bay, the other children and their parents and helpers, and the Centre volunteers, not to mention the film crew, were all amazed that now two dolphins seemed to have singled out the new girl for special attention.

Interaction with the dolphins at the Discovery Centre was always totally on the dolphins' terms. Nothing was ever to be forced upon them, for they were wild dolphins and free agents, and their welfare and wishes were respected.

A strict set of guidelines had to be followed at all times, such as staying within the markers, no touching allowed, no feeding, no following a dolphin once it decided to leave the Interaction Zone, and no trying to attract a dolphin into the zone by clapping or splashing the surface of the water.

Care was taken not to 'modify' the natural behavior of the dolphins, and any contact they made was of their own accord.

It was largely because of these policies that Sam had selected Bunbury. He believed in the benefits that interaction would hold for Allie, but he was not prepared to have any wild creature manipulated for the benefit of humankind.

Sam was content just to see the dolphins swimming close to the group of excited children, their graceful movements soothing to behold. He noticed that the natural 'smiles' on the faces of the creatures soon elicited smiles from the humans observing them, himself included.

Sam was careful not to break any of the rules. He was therefore just as surprised as everyone else when first one and then two dolphins circled around him, then nuzzled his knees and poked him in the chest, looking at him with their heads on one side with a curious expression that seemed to say 'Don't we know you from somewhere?' It was almost as if they were interacting with one of their own.

One of the volunteers told the group that these two were newcomers, not among the 34 regulars who had been known to visit the area since 1990. "They obviously don't know the rules yet!" one jealous parent said sarcastically, shooting a look at 'Allie'.

The volunteer went on to say that this pair appeared to be a mother and calf, and strangely they looked more like Atlantic bottle nose dolphins than the more familiar Indian Ocean counterparts they were used to. It was an enigma.

The smaller dolphin was now distinctly trying to place its flipper in Sam's hand, to all intents and purposes as if it were trying to shake his hand. The film-crew was elated at the footage they were getting. It was far better than they could have dared hope for, and this was only day one of filming.

Sam looked to the volunteers for guidance, not sure what he was meant to do. The attention was astounding and wonderful, but also awkward because he was the only one on the receiving end and embarrassing, especially since the dolphins were not particular about where they were nudging him!

"What should I do?" he asked, taking a little jump forwards as the mother poked him in the buttocks with her snout, though more playfully than painfully.

"We always say the dolphins are in charge," replied a frankly bemused volunteer, looking to the others for confirmation and getting a shrug then a nod. "They seem to want you to touch them, so go ahead, but don't hold them back, let them move away whenever they wish."

The rest of the group was divided into those who were mesmerized and thrilled to be witnessing this rare behavior, and those who were jealous that they were not included in the special treatment. To their credit, none of them tried to 'muscle in on the action', except the outspoken mother who kept trying to edge her child nearer to the 'popular girl' and her dolphin fan club.

Sam tentatively held out a hand, and the calf instantly rested his head in it.

"Give it a kiss," suggested the cameraman, and when the volunteers nodded, Sam gently leant forwards and touched his lips to the tip of the calf's snout.

It may have been a sensational shot for the film crew, but Sam was instantly unaware of anything else but the dolphin in front of him. For it started to make clicking and whistling sounds, and inexplicably, just as when he'd leapt into the species, Sam instinctively seemed to know what the creature was trying to say to him. It was asking for his help.

Sam took a deep hitching breath, and turned his head to search the shore for Al. Contrary to what he would have believed, he actually wished Al were a hologram at this moment, so that he could float out on the water and tell the leaper just exactly what the hell was going on!

Al soon caught his eye, and he was gesturing wildly. Maybe he did have some answers after all. Who would have thought that his being there for real could have been a disadvantage?

Once more, the calf clicked at Sam, and his mother repeated the plea. Sam couldn't say how he knew, but he was sure they needed something from him. He just didn't know quite what.

Sam patted each of them gently on the back, and whispered to them not to worry. Somehow, he would find a way to do as they wanted. As soon as he worked out what that was.

The young dolphin offered him his flipper again, and Sam thought he saw something at the base of it, like a barnacle on the bottom of a boat. He had no chance to examine it though.

As if on some unheard signal, the dolphins turned around and suddenly moved off. Sensing the atmosphere among the group, they made sure that between them they gave everyone a quick nudge or a shake of the fin or a nod of the head on the way past. It was incredible to behold, as one volunteer attested:

"Well, I've never seen _anything_ like that! And I've been helping out here for five years now!" she shook her head in bewilderment.

0o0

While the film crew was interviewing the rest of the group for their reactions, and questioning the volunteers, Sam made his escape. Wading back to shore, Sam pretended he'd lost sight of Alan and headed for Al and Tina. It may not have been a very convincing subterfuge, since access to this stretch of beach was strictly via the Discovery center and limited to people having connections with those entering the Interaction Zone. It was not exactly a crowded beach. Still, Sam hoped he'd get long enough with Al before Alan caught up to glean something informative about his strange encounter. He was not altogether disappointed.

Aware of the lack of time, Al got straight to the point.

"It's amazing, pal, Zig says that young calf is the very one you played midwife to. She has no idea what he's doing here, so far from home, but it's like he and his mother knew it was you and came to say thanks. They're amazing creatures, aren't they?"

Sam could see Alan had spotted them and was on his way.

"Al, they spoke to me! – No don't laugh; I swear I understood their clicks and whistles, I don't know how. But they were asking me for help. The young one had something on his flipper. It could have been a growth, or it could have been man-made, I didn't get a chance to see for sure. Have Ziggy work out what it means."

Al nodded, not replying because Alan was now within earshot. He slipped the hand link into his pocket.

"Still working?" he queried of the couple, "I thought you'd be off enjoying your honeymoon."

"We're the advance team, so our part is officially over," Al thought it wise to inform him, "But we wanted to make sure Allie was being well looked after by the crew."

Alan's opinion of the pair went up another notch.

"Did you see them, Dad? Weren't they incredible?" Sam enthused, still thinking that Allie was being robbed of the experience. He worried now that she would be kept longer from her rightful place, since he had another mission for the gentle dolphins, and he didn't know how he could discover what it was. He knew he **had** to help them though, whatever it took.

"They sure were, punkin', they sure were." Alan agreed, and he was thrilled to see the sparkle in his little girl's eyes. She wasn't even complaining how tired she felt, though she was swaying a little where she stood.

"I think you've had enough excitement for one day, punkin'. Time to go home for a rest." Alan ordered gently. "Enjoy your honeymoon," he turned and nodded first to Tina, then to Al, "Mrs. Calavicci, and Mr. uh _Admiral_ Calavicci, have a good day."

Tina giggled shrilly, "Mrs. Calavicci! I like the sound of that!"

**Los Angeles**

Ruggiero was frustrated. He'd threatened, he'd cajoled, and he'd beaten Bill Donahue black and blue, breaking a few bones for good measure. Still they had both stuck to their claim of not knowing anything about the bastard Beckett's whereabouts. Perhaps it was true after all.

He decided to try a different approach.

Leaving them alone in the dark, Guido went upstairs to make a phone call.

Perhaps Frank or Mary Bannerman, their friends and baby sitters, would give him the knowledge he so desperately desired in exchange for the Donahues' freedom.

Infuriatingly, they too claimed ignorance, but at least Frank assured him that he would do his best to discover the required information; so long as he was assured that the Donahue's would be returned alive.

Guido gave him 24 hours. If after that he was still empty handed, well then perhaps Frank would find himself joining Bill and Cat in the basement.

**Bunbury**

Much later in the day, Sam awoke from yet another restless sleep, with thoughts of the dolphins very much on his mind. He couldn't sleep, and felt hungry, so he got up and went out into the living area of the apartment.

Alan was surprised to see his daughter up and about, though still moving with her customary weary gait. He ushered her to the couch and made her sit. Pleased to hear she had an appetite, he went to the kitchen area to 'rustle something up'.

Getting up had used up most of Sam's energy, but he was certainly finding the sea air and dolphin encounter had improved his overall feeling of wellbeing. He was definitely able to do more before exhaustion overwhelmed him.

Consequently, when the telephone rang, he didn't hesitate to volunteer to answer it, and was up before Alan could protest.

Sitting himself in the chair by the phone, Sam was thrilled to hear Al's voice on the other end. For his part, Al was relieved to hear Sam, negating the need to find some plausible excuse to talk to Allie. This conversation was likely to be difficult enough as it was.

"I guess you're not able to talk freely, Sam, so just listen, okay?"

"Of course," Sam replied.

"This is huge! I can't believe I didn't put two and two together earlier, Sam," Al confessed, "but we've done some digging, and you were right, the dolphins need our help."

Sam may still be somewhat brain-fogged, but he noted Al's use of the word 'our', and smiled.

"I didn't register it consciously, I guess, but it came back to me later…"

Sam was getting impatient, wondering what Al was leading up to, and frustrated at not being able to ask leading questions.

"What was that?"

"When we were on the yacht, watching the dolphins," Al finally clarified, "I _thought_ I spotted a periscope way out to sea in the direction they swam off to…"

"Really?" Sam tried to keep his incredulity in check, not wanting to arouse suspicions or elicit awkward questions from Alan.

"I must have done," Al insisted, "Okay, bottom line. There is a military operation going on, Sam. Very hush-hush, but between Ziggy's uh, _methods_ , and my contacts in high places we've uncovered it. It explains why your Atlantic dolphins are so far from home – they're seeing which ones are easiest to instruct. The Australian Navy is doing joint research with the US Navy into training dolphins for military purposes. Just like in that movie, oh what was it called…?"

"Day of the Dolphin." Sam recalled with unexpected clarity. Made in the mid 70's it fed the paranoia of the conspiracy theorists, and held that the intelligent dolphins, which had been taught a limited vocabulary, were kidnapped and trained to assassinate the President. They were to deliver a limpet mine to the underside of a boat. Only the brilliant creatures outwitted their captors and put the bomb under the bad guys' boat instead. Not so much Free Willy as dolphins with Free Will. Cinemagoers everywhere cheered wildly as the rogues realized just too late what had happened.

It made Sam's blood boil to think that his gentle friends were being similarly exploited.

"We **have** to put a stop to it!" he cried out emphatically, rising to his feet, heedless of whether or not he was overheard. The leaper was incensed, as he knew Al must be too. Sam was trembling with rage.

"Hey, punkin, what's wrong?" Alan steadied his daughter as she shook, and gently sat her down again. "There, there," he soothed, "tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help, huh?"

Something about the way he said it led Sam to decide not to try a cover up.

"Maybe you can, at that," he told Mr. Johnson, who looked quizzically at his daughter.

A brief explanation had Alan Johnson totally on board with the mission. He even invited the Admiral over to discuss what they could do and how they could go about it. He was impressed that the old man had enough connections to discover such an underhanded plot, and that he was prepared to put his honeymoon on hold to redress the injustice.

Sam realized suddenly that this was a good thing for Alan. The gentle giant had been so absorbed in caring for his daughter that in a way he had been hindering her recovery by pandering to her invalidity. This cause seemed to have given him a new focus, and a new enthusiasm. He was smothering his daughter much less, not fussing about whether or not she was overdoing it. Whilst Sam was still extremely weak and weary, and knew there was a long road ahead to Allie's recovery, he was sure that she had the sense to pace herself and manage her condition sensibly. They had turned a corner.

"How about we use the film crew?" Al suggested, refusing a coffee this time as he came in and sat near Sam. "Blow the whistle on this nefarious scheme and raise a public outcry."

"Good idea," Sam concurred, "We can draft a petition, I'm sure we'd get thousands of signatures."

"Draft," mused Al, "yeah 'Say no to drafting dolphins!' Kinda catchy, don't you think? They have no right to make conscripts of those poor creatures."

"Too right they don't! It's not likely to stop them overnight," warned Alan, "but it'll sure put a spoke in their wheel. And we won't let up 'til we liberate every one of them, will we punkin?"

"Thanks for supporting me on this one, Dad," Sam gave his 'adopted father' a hug.

"No worries," Alan looked at his daughter with admiration, "Your Mum would have been so proud of you." Sam smiled at him.

"Hey, I got an idea!" Alan changed tack suddenly, "I'm gonna call your Uncle Josh. See if there's any legal precedence for charging them with kidnapping the dolphins!" Wasting no time he headed for the phone.

Sam looked at Al. A funny feeling was starting to come over him, and it had nothing to do with the negative effects of the illness. If he were in the past, he'd have bet Al was about to give him details of happy-ever-afters for all parties. Sam felt it was a fairly safe prediction in any case.

His feeling was strengthened when Alan rejoined them shortly after.

"Guess what, punkin?" his eyes were sparkling. He looked happier than Sam remembered seeing him since the leap began.

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"Uncle Josh is putting in for a transfer! He wants to come and join us in our protest. It may take a while to come through, but it's made my mind up. How would you like to look for a little place round here? It's not like we have a home to go back to. We could settle down close enough to have daily contact with the dolphins. I can get a part time job, I'm sure, and as you get fitter you can volunteer at the Discovery Centre, or ultimately even get a job there once you finish your schooling. What do you say?"

Alan was so inspired that he could hardly get the words out fast enough. He was speaking so positively about Allie getting better too. Sam was sure that things were looking up. His job was finally done, and he was confident Allie would continue the campaign on her return. He caught Al's eye, and confirmed that his friend felt it too.

"That'd be wonderful, Dad!" Sam hugged the huge man again, and then turned to Al, not able to defer to appearances. "Isn't it wonderful, Al?" He put his arms out and Al spontaneously hugged him before the last opportunity to do so slipped away, "It sure is, kiddo!"

All too soon, the blue energy of the Leap separated them once more…


	24. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

As the Leap took hold of Sam, he clung tighter to Al, as if he could anchor himself and prevent his departure. It had been so great to be with his friend again, even if it were for such a short time and fraught with problems.

Then after a few moments, Sam remembered his guilty feelings at keeping Allie from the wonderful experiences she would have loved, and realized he couldn't selfishly delay his departure any longer, however much his lonely heart yearned to. He mouthed a heartfelt, "Thanks, Al!" and vanished…

…He was just parking a vehicle in a garage. He looked in the rear-view mirror, and thought that his host looked somehow familiar. Had he leaped into someone famous? He couldn't recall what area of celebrity this man might come from, but Sam had definitely seen him somewhere before.

The next thing he was aware of was the lack of pain. The M.E. had totally left him, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt whole and healthy and fit and fine. 'Long may it continue,' was his fervent wish.

The woman next to him got out and opened the door to what was obviously the kitchen, almost getting knocked over by two excited young girls who rushed in carrying packages that were obviously party frocks.

"Mum" then came back and started to get more parcels from the back of the car, while Sam tried to shake off the haze of Leaping and make some helpful contribution to the proceedings. He got out of the car and approached her to take the burden from her. Before he was fully aware of what was happening, he found himself watching as a huge man who also looked vaguely familiar - as did the woman - grabbed her from behind, and shoved a cloth over her face. Chloroform, Sam's mind informed him clinically.

Confused, Sam hesitated for a split second. He could hear the girls just beyond the door in the kitchen. Should he go to protect them, or help the woman? He moved forward to help the rapidly slumping woman, and didn't see the wrench that connected suddenly and forcefully with his temple. He didn't see the ground rush up to meet him either.

0o0

Sam's head felt as if it were exploding. Bright lights flashed before his eyes, and he had no sense of reality to ground his spinning head and floating body. He may have lost consciousness briefly, he couldn't be sure, but it seemed a mere moment later he was all too conscious of the throbbing in his skull.

Then before he could register anything else a wave of nausea washed over him as he felt himself lifted from the ground and tossed aside like yesterday's newspaper. He landed with a hollow metallic thud in what must have been some sort of van, which soon began to move, bouncing him around like a dried pea in a home made maraca.

He couldn't focus enough to tell which way was up. He thought he could make out the blurred outline of the woman lying unconscious next to him, but he could just as easily be looking at a sack of laundry. He tried to move in her direction to seek confirmation, but he couldn't keep hold of the knowledge of where that was. Every rumble of the vehicle knocked some part of his body and painted a new bruise. He hurt everywhere he was aware of, and some places he wasn't sure were even his. Passing out soon seemed like a pretty tempting proposition, and since he couldn't manage anything else of any use, he let the world slip away and plunged into the depths of black blessed oblivion.

**Los Angeles**

**A basement room**

He looked up slowly, not wanting to move his head too much. It hurt. Most of him hurt.

He really hoped he was alone in the room, but various sounds filtering through from his ears to his fuzzy brain suggested that both the people he most wanted **not** to be there – though for opposite reasons – were indeed with him.

Blinking slowly, Sam Beckett screwed up his eyes against the brightness that assaulted him, and then opened them again, attempting to force them to focus. What he saw made him wish he could close them again and wake up to find he was dreaming.

Several feet in front of him, mirroring his own position – which was tied up to a wooden chair – was the woman, his host's wife, whom he suddenly knew, though he wasn't clear how, was called Caitlin. His next thought was of Irish stew and dumplings with rich gravy, which had him fretting for his sanity.

The other person was behind him, and the smell of garlic on his assailant's breath brought other random thoughts that confused Sam; thoughts of scared rabbits and cement mixers. He knew this beast from somewhere, and the association was far from amiable.

"Awake at last?" the strongly accented voice was soft yet menacing in his ear. The feel of cold steel against his throat accompanied it.

"No!" shrieked Caitlin, tears streaming down her face, "Leave him alone! We've done nothing to you!"

Sam tensed, not daring to move, or even to breathe too deeply. The tip of a stiletto blade was pressing on his Adam's apple, so he resisted the urge to swallow too. He wanted to reassure Caitlin, but he daren't try to speak.

"If-a you wanna me to leave him alone," Guido Ruggiero leaned in toward his victim, moving the knife and carefully drawing just a few drops of blood from a tiny nick on the side of his neck, making Caitlin scream and Sam flinch, "tell-a me what I wanna to know."

"Please," she begged, "we'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt us."

Caitlin feared for her life, and for the life of her husband. She also feared for her children, not knowing if they were prisoners too somewhere, or if they would soon find themselves orphans…

…She had tried to struggle against her bonds, attempting to free herself and thence her husband, but her efforts had only tightened the ropes around her wrists and ankles, and ultimately resulted in her tipping her chair over. Her knee and shoulder had taken the worst of the impact, and both were now bruised and sore.

The big man had righted her chair, and checked her ropes. Caitlin whimpered, avoiding eye contact with the beast. Mercifully, he'd done no more, moving over to make sure her husband had not gotten loose.

It was at this point that Sam had come-to.

Caitlin guessed at once what Ruggiero wanted to know, but they had no answers for him. She seriously doubted if either one of them would survive the night.

Sam felt the trickle of warm blood on his neck, and wondered if the knife had caught a blood vessel. This thug meant business. He had to try and protect Caitlin, and then he could think of saving himself.

"You have me," he pointed out to his captor, "Please, let… let my w-wife go."

"Oh I don't think so." Ruggiero chuckled. It was an ugly sound. He moved past Bill's chair and slowly approached Cat.

"Leave her alone!" Sam tried to sound commanding, but he didn't feel as if he had much control. He instinctively shifted his weight and hurled himself, chair and all, at their captor in an attempt to intercept Ruggiero as he passed. The huge man easily sidestepped the crude attempt to impede him, and laughed again as Sam and the chair crashed to the floor. Sam grunted in pain as he landed awkwardly. A couple of the spindles at the back of the chair snapped in half with a loud cracking sound. Sam could feel sharp splinters of wood digging into his flesh through the shirt. Cat screamed her husband's name.

"Shaddup you noise!" ordered Ruggiero harshly, raising his hand as if to strike her.

"Keep your filthy hands off her, or…" Sam ordered defiantly.

"Or what? How **you** gonna stop me?" sneered the olive-skinned ogre, but the blow didn't land.

"Are you such a coward that you have to resort to beating up women?" challenged Sam.

Ruggiero rounded on him, and kicked him swiftly in the stomach where he lay. Sam expelled an explosive coughing breath and screwed his eyes up against the pain.

Cat screamed her husband's name again, "Bill, please, don't! He'll kill you!"

"Listen to your wife, Mr. Donahue, and you can both leave here alive. I have no desire to hurt either one of you."

"Then please, let us go." Cat pleaded, "Our children…"

"Tell me where your friend Beckett is and you can be reunited with your bambini."

There, he'd said it. Cat knew it was coming.

Sam looked up from the floor at the sound of his name. He was getting flashes of memories that he knew meant he'd met these people, but what did he have to do with their current predicament? He felt sick to his bruised stomach. Where was Al? Still in Australia he presumed, enjoying a bit of marital bliss while he and Caitlin were here in peril for their lives. He had to do something, but any attempt to escape his bonds just caused him greater pain.

"Please, Mr. Ruggiero sir, you **have** to believe us, we don't **know** where David is, honestly we don't. After you, ah, after Bill got shot, David took a new job and left town. He didn't tell anyone where he went, not even us. He said we'd be safer **not** knowing."

"Then he was-a wrong. I cannot let you go until I know where he is."

**David** Beckett! It wasn't him, Sam, they meant then. Relief flooded through Sam, but then the name David Beckett stirred even more memories. He'd met these people once upon a Leap, and odd details of it were coming back to haunt him.

Sam was still not sure precisely who David Beckett was, and he certainly had no idea where he could currently be located, but in any case, he would not have delivered his worst enemy up to someone who so obviously intended nothing good for the person he sought.

"My uh, my wife just told you," Sam repeated, "We don't know. We can't _tell_ you what we don't _know_." Sam told him firmly. Perhaps his leap mission was to save this David's life. Perhaps before they had been bullied into revealing his whereabouts. Since Sam honestly didn't know, the man's secret was safe with him. He still needed to get Caitlin away though.

"Perhaps I can refresh-a you memory," an evil grin spread across the huge man's face. In one swift movement he picked Sam up, still firmly bound in his broken chair, and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to fling him across the room like a Frisbee. Instead, he placed him upright much closer to Cat than he had been before. Suddenly, the knife was back in his hand, and back at Sam's throat. His other hand was pulling Sam's head back by the hair, making him gasp, and exposing even more of the throat to the blade. He made a tiny nick on the opposite side of Sam's neck, so that he had matching streaks of red trickling down from two stinging cuts.

"Wanna tell me something now, Mrs. D? Or shall I play join da dots on Billy boy's neck?" Sam felt himself perspiring. He was breathing hard, trying not to let his panic show. He felt totally helpless. His battered head was swimming from the frequent change in position. His neck ached at the back where the thug was pulling on his hair, and stung at the sides from the cuts. His throat was taut and painful.

Cat was sobbing hard, "Please. There's nothing I _can_ tell you. We don't know. I swear to you we don't know, _please_ , don't cut him any more."

"Mebbe you right," Cat breathed a sigh of relief as Ruggiero withdrew the stiletto blade from Bill's neck and let go his hair, cuffing the back of his head as he let him go. Sam echoed the sigh, letting his aching head flop forward. "He no talk-a too well with his throat cut. Mebbe I just take-a da finger instead." So saying he grabbed Sam's right hand where it was tied by the wrist to the arm of the chair, and forced him to flatten his fingers against the wood. Sam struggled, but the bully just pushed down harder on the back of his hand, crushing it. Then he scored a bone-deep cut across the top knuckle of the little finger, as if marking it ready to carve. Sam winced, not daring to try and pull his hand away lest he sustain a worse injury in the attempt. Hot blood dripped down and formed a pool on the floorboard at his feet.

" **NO**!" shrieked Cat, horrified. "I beg you, please, for pity's sake. How can I make you believe me? We have no idea where David is."

"You are good friends to try to protect him. Especially after he got-a you shot." Ruggiero jabbed Sam in the side with his fingers, right on the sight of Bill's scar. Sam gasped in pain; Cat sobbed louder.

"Mebbe **you** tell me," Ruggiero suggested to Sam, simultaneously moving round behind Cat and pulling her head back by the hair. He didn't push his knife to her throat, but they Sam didn't know how long it might be until he did.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her, you cowardly bastard." Sam threatened recklessly. "I swear, I'd tell you if I could. I _don't_ **know**." Pain and anger and fear were making Sam breathless. How could he save these people when he was trussed up like this? Why did every Leap have to see him handicapped in some way recently? Weren't they tough enough? Sam couldn't remember a time when he hadn't hurt; leap after leap seemed to be trying to outdo the one before in how it made him suffer. It occurred to him to wonder again if he were being punished for a sin he could no longer clearly recall committing.

In fact, Ruggiero had no intention of cutting Cat Donahue. He was capable of doing whatever it took to Bill, just as he'd shown no mercy to that interfering upstart David Beckett, but his Momma had raised him to have more respect for a lady. Of course, the husband didn't need to know that. He'd display just enough of a ruthless streak to make the doting husband believe the little woman was in peril, in hopes he'd sing like a canary. But if it came to it, he'd take out his frustrations on the man, and make the woman talk to protect him.

Only so far, neither one of them was talking. He'd deliberately been vague about whether or not he had their precious little daughters captive. He hadn't, for the same reason he wouldn't cut Cat, but if they _thought_ he had, then that could be enough of an advantage. He was a brilliant strategist, if he said so himself.

Ruggiero turned his attention back to the man, determined to knock some of the bravado out of him.

"You speak pretty big for a man tied to a chair," he taunted Sam, adding a sharp kick to his shin to emphasize who had the upper hand. Sam's face contorted with pain, but he held the instinctive cry in. He wasn't about to give the bully the satisfaction of knowing how much it had pained him.

"Untie me, and then we'll see who's the bigger man," Sam challenged courageously, hoping that if he goaded the man into removing his restraints, he'd have a chance to overpower the big lug and get Cat and himself to safety.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Ruggiero smiled a sickeningly evil smile, and then backhanded Sam across the cheek, snapping his head sideways, the signet ring on his little finger drawing blood. Déjà vu swamped Sam, and more memories of his previous encounters with this monster flooded back. Not one of them was enjoyable. Sam gasped again, and again Caitlin sobbed.

**Bunbury**

Allie found herself in a strange room, hugging a strange man, and a purple bear that looked like Isaiah's cousin. Memories of her 'M.E. holiday' were fading fast, but she assumed the man had something to do with the one who'd saved her and her father from the fire in their home. She turned to see the familiar face of her father, and decided not to worry about the things she was forgetting to remember.

Al broke off the embrace as soon as he realized that Sam had been replaced by Allie. It was a first for him to be there when Sam left, normally he found himself in a bare Imaging Chamber. He felt uncomfortable.

He still had unfinished business with the family though. He had every intention of continuing to help with the mission to free the dolphins, whether locally, or from back home. With any luck, Sam would be in limbo for a week or so, enabling him to finish enjoying his honeymoon and get the protest well and truly under way.

Luck was not on their side though. The hand link in Al's pocket beeped in alarm a moment later.

"Uh, you'll have to excuse me, this is an important call." Al tried to bluff that he just had a high tech cell phone. "I'll be in touch to help with the arrangements for the campaign."

Alan showed him out, promising to do all he could to mobilize the public to their cause.

By the time he'd got back to his apartment, Al had to inform Tina that the honeymoon was well and truly over.

"Ziggy says that Sam's leaped again already. Problem is, before they could get a lock on him, his vital signs went whacko and they can't even be sure his brain waves are still traceable. I gotta get back to HQ, pronto." Al was beside himself with worry, and praying the remote link would prove sufficient until he could resume his usual duties. He'd been so caught up with getting **to** Sam in Australia; he hadn't given a thought to the time it would take to get _back_.

Al had been afraid Tina would throw a hissy fit at him for curtailing their honeymoon, but she was just as concerned for Sam's welfare as her new husband. She started packing without a murmur of protest while Al made the necessary flight arrangements.

**Los Angeles**

The nightmare showed no signs of ending. By Caitlin's reckoning, it had already been at least 24 hours since they last saw their daughters, not counting the time they had been out cold. She had been given water and even at one point fed a little soup; Bill had been given nothing, so that along with everything else, he had dehydration to contend with.

Their captor had enjoyed making him watch her drink. While her husband had nodded his approval of the concession to her it had clearly been hard for him to see relief so close yet have his own need ignored. At one point, she had thought to refuse unless Bill was allowed water too, but no sooner had she opened her mouth to voice the ultimatum than he'd forbidden her with a stern look and a shake of his head. She'd drunk only to stop him fretting more about her.

Ruggiero cajoled. Caitlin and Sam still failed to tell him what he wanted to hear, because they didn't know.

Ruggiero threatened. He got nothing, because they had nothing to give.

Ruggiero then inevitably turned to torturing Sam in an attempt to 'jog Caitlin's memory'. At first it was just periodic punches, body blows, kicks and vicious slaps and knocks to the face. Each one hurt more than the last, but Sam was able to ride them out.

All the while, Sam never stopped looking for opportunities to turn the tables, and he never stopped looking for Al to pop in and give him a solution. Neither advantage was forthcoming. He was too well trussed up to be able to get in even the smallest of kicks or hits of his own. At one point he'd been minded to spit in his tormentor's face, but he was so dehydrated he couldn't even manage that. Probably just as well, since it would likely have simply earned him a savage and painful retribution. In the absence of further guidance, Sam continued on the principle of trying to make sure he and Caitlin survived until a way presented itself for him to do more.

As the hours wore on Ruggiero's patience wore out, and his temper drove him to ever more brutal attacks. His lust for revenge against David Beckett had clearly driven him mad, and no amount of reason could divert him from his obsession.

By the time he finally threw his arms up in despair and went upstairs, muttering about finding another way, Sam had sustained several broken ribs, a knife wound in his left leg just above the knee, and three broken fingers on his right hand.

Ruggiero had really seemed to enjoy snapping his fingers like dry twigs. Not all at once, but singly, over a long period. The first one had been bad enough, when Sam hadn't known what was coming. The excruciating pain as the bully pushed down on the back of his hand with one of his own and then grabbed his ring finger and yanked it up 'til the bones cracked under the strain had made Sam first nauseas, and then faint. It had throbbed for a long time, and was now black and swollen and sore.

The second one had been worse, for Ruggiero had toyed with him, deciding which finger he would break next, tugging on first one and then another and letting Sam sweat with fear at a repeat of the agony. Despite Cat's pleading, and his own, the monster had eventually made Sam's middle finger as bruised and distended as the first.

The third, his index finger, was the worst of all, for his hand was already burning with pain from the other breakages, and the weeping wound of the deep cut in his pinkie, which the beast kept reopening. Sam's voice was hoarse from his cries of pain, which he could no longer hold in, though he knew they fuelled both Ruggiero's cruelty and Cat's terror. As his finger snapped in a flash of agony, Sam silently prayed that his thumb would not soon complete the set, but he couldn't help fearing that the thug would not stop even there. He had another hand - five more digits to be tortured.

The assault on his ribs had been no easier to endure. Ruggiero became aware of the broken spindles in Sam's chair, and had yanked the loose half of one out of its socket.

Sam couldn't help noticing that the shattered edge formed quite a sharp spike, and his pain-addled brain starting thinking of movie fights with vampires, where the smashed piece of wood provided the ideal weapon to dispatch the beast. Would that he could be the one wielding this one now. Ruggiero may not be a vampire, but he was certainly a monster.

At first, Ruggiero used the blunt end of the baton. He swung it round like a champion batsman at a baseball match, connecting forcefully with Sam's ribcage as if it were the ball. Sam heard as well as felt the crunch of wood on bone, his cry of agony muted by the breath-robbing injury. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to blot out the burning sensation that spread across his chest, but it didn't work.

Before he could recover his ragged breath, Ruggiero had struck again, making sure the blow didn't land in quite the same place.

"Argh, God!" Sam breathed, a little too deeply, and then he was pressing his lips together against the mounting agony. Hot tears leaked from the corners of his swollen, bloodshot eyes.

Three or four strikes later - Sam couldn't keep count, nor did he really want to – Ruggiero changed tactics again, and began slashing and jabbing at his victim with the jagged edge of the makeshift weapon. What was left of Sam's shirt was soon in tatters, and there were numerous fine splinter filled cuts on his torso. Though neither deep nor substantial, they stung like paper cuts and merely added to his overall discomfort, and cumulative blood loss. Likewise, one or two of the jabs had penetrated just deep enough to draw both more precious blood and renewed cries of pain.

The assault only let up when Ruggiero had seemingly tired himself out. He paused to stand back and admire his handiwork, smiling in satisfaction at a body daubed with the hues of blood and bruising like a haphazard modernist's painting. Or maybe he was merely bored, for he suddenly flung the spindle away, and retrieved his stiletto instead, toying with it while he decided what to do next.

As Sam sat, gasping and panting from the pain of broken ribs that made breathing an ordeal, Cat had tried yet again to plead for an end to her husband's suffering.

"What is it going to take to convince you that no amount of torture can make us tell you what we don't know?"

Amazingly, Ruggiero finally seemed to concede their ignorance, and having angrily sunk his knife - which he'd started using to trace a line down Sam's sternum - into Donahue's leg, reveling in the pathetic feebleness of his victim's agonized cry, he threw up his hands in frustration and stormed upstairs, leaving them alone.

**Quantum Leap Headquarters**

As Ziggy had informed the Admiral, they knew Sam had leaped, almost instantaneously this time. The speed caught them off guard, and before they could start a search, Sam's vital signs had gone off the chart, as he was rendered unconscious. It was clear from the monitors that he had drifted in and out of that state, but he hadn't become lucid enough to get a lock on his brainwaves. They didn't know who, where or when he was; only that he was in trouble.

Bena had immediately attended to the Leapee, bringing Cassie in on the assumption that he may be similarly incapacitated. They found him awake, but totally unaware of whom he was, or much of anything else, not even the date. He wasn't being deliberately unforthcoming, he simply didn't remember anything, beyond the fact that he had been with his family, and was concerned for them.

This lent further urgency to the team's efforts. Unfortunately, it did not help them to get any results.

Some hours later, they had made no progress whatsoever. Sam seemed to have regained consciousness, but his brainwaves weren't giving a clear enough signal to lock on to. Brain damage was feared. The personnel at the Project were as frustrated as Al. Ziggy reassured the Admiral that the Imaging Chamber was currently useless without any hint of a target, so it did not matter that he was off site, but he was still rushing back post haste.

They had discovered, unsurprisingly, that all commercial flights would take anywhere from 26 to 48 hours to get him back. By hiring a Lear Jet, as he'd done once arriving in London by way of Concorde on the outward journey, Al was able to pilot himself and Tina back by a more direct and considerably faster course. His pilot friend Harry let him know the best and swiftest places to refuel en route.

The real break, for both sides of the Leap, came not this time from a flash of 'inspiration' by the psychic doctor, but from a fluke.

Ziggy was searching her vast databanks for an identity match on the leapee. Her logic circuits were able to 'see' past Sam's aura, and create a digital 'identikit' type image of his features. Now she was running it against ID photos of every adult male she could access from the entire United States for the previous 50 years. Any normal computer would have taken months or years to make such a comparative search. Ziggy was confident she'd have it done in hours. Assuming of course that the leapee was a US citizen. If she had to go global it would take considerably longer.

David, known as Gushie when at the console, was keeping a close eye on Sam's vital signs through the neurological link that had been programmed into Ziggy at the computer's inception. He had been concentrating hard, looking for any spike in the signal that would let them get a lock. After hours of such intensity, his eyes were tired, and he looked up from his readings, rubbing them. Then they strayed to the monitor where Ziggy was making her comparisons.

He did a double take.

"Ziggy, is **that** the leapee?" he sought confirmation incredulously.

"Indeed, CP." The computer replied dispassionately, not pausing for a nanosecond in her computations.

Impulsively, David left his post and rushed to the Waiting Room, contacting Donna, who was in charge in Al's absence, as he went.

"Donna!" he cried, breathlessly, "I know who it is! The leapee, it's Bill Donahue; it's my friend Bill! Sam's somewhere in L.A."

Before anyone could react, David had put his handprint on the door-pad, and gone inside.

**Los Angeles**

Caitlin was trembling with fear and worry; her face was stained with tears she could no longer shed. Her husband was barely conscious, bleeding copiously and in obvious agony.

"Oh God, please don't let him die, please help us," she whispered softly.

"Amen to that," Sam surprised her by answering hoarsely through cracked lips.

"Bill?" she poured volumes into the simple name.

"Listen Cat," Sam whispered urgently through teeth gritted by pain, "we may… not have long. I need you to…gnah… do something."

"Anything," she vowed loyally.

"It won't b-be easy." Even as he spoke, Sam was edging his chair forward, each tiny jerking movement sending shockwaves of pain through his tortured body and bringing tears to his eyes.

Caitlin looked at him, wide-eyed; afraid she knew what he was about to ask of her. She shook her head slowly.

The distance between them had not been large. Ruggiero had wanted them to see into each other's eyes. It still took several shuffles to get his chair close enough to Caitlin's for his plan to have a chance. Seeing he was determined, Caitlin halved the distance by shuffling her own chair to line up as it was needed. Sam just hoped he could stay awake long enough to see it through. His head swam.

"Grab… the knife," he ordered, once he was alongside her.

"I – I can't!" Caitlin was horrified. She didn't need to be a doctor to know that removing the obstacle could result in the injured party bleeding to death. He'd already lost more than he could spare.

"Please, Cat," Sam begged, before the doctor in him changed his mind, "Pull it… out, then…argh… c-cut my ropes, or p-pass it… to me to cut y-yours, whichever… you can… manage."

Cat opened her mouth to protest again, but Sam simply looked her in the eyes and whispered, "H-hurry."

With a sob and a nod, Caitlin leaned at an angle that let her get her hand on the hilt of the knife. Sam pressed his lips together, held his breath, and grabbed the arm of his chair with his undamaged left hand. His fingers gripped the wood with white-knuckled intensity as she cleanly drew the blade out, fighting not to pass out as his life's blood began gushing from the wound.

A long exhalation through puffed cheeks followed by a hitching breath, and then Sam told her, "Good girl, now… cut."

The angle was awkward, and lack of circulation hindered maneuverability; still, in a remarkably short time, Caitlin had painstakingly severed the ropes round Sam's left wrist enough for him to shake them out of the way.

"What are you going to do?" Cat asked, passing him the knife, knowing her husband was too severely injured to fight the monster, and fearful he'd die in the attempt.

"Whatever… I can," panted Sam, wondering to himself what that might be, and if it would be enough.

With his now freed hand, Sam sliced through the cords that bound Cat's wrist, whereupon she took back the bloody blade and made short work of the rest of their restraints.

Sam immediately cradled his injured hand against his injured chest, while applying pressure to the wound in his leg with his other hand. He was feeling nauseas again.

Cat briefly rubbed her sore wrists and ankles, and the bruises she'd sustained in her fall. Then she ripped the hem of her dress and tied it around Sam's leg, pulling it tighter and tighter in an effort to stem the crimson flow, according to his instructions. She tried not to look at the grimace on his face as she did so, knowing how she must be causing him even more pain. Finally, he gasped that she could stop, and she tied it off.

"Thanks," whispered Sam.

"Oh, Bill!" was all she could manage.

"I know you're scared, Cat, but please… try and…ah… hold it together for me... a bit… longer, I don't th-think I can... do this... alone. You're…arh… a brave woman, Mrs. Donahue."

Sam recalled now how he had bonded with this couple on the leap that they were currently being punished for. He'd wished then that he could look them up one day and see them again. He hadn't meant like this. Not like this.

"You're a wonderful man, Mr. Donahue," Cat responded, leaning forward to kiss him full on the mouth, but gently, seeing how cracked and dry his lips were. The bottom lip also had a deep split, and was swollen and bloody from the abuse he'd suffered.

"Have a quick… look around," Sam instructed when their lips parted, "see if… there's another… way out, but be careful."

Cat nodded, and began her search, knowing her husband needed to conserve what little strength he had. He looked so pale, so pained. Every breath he took was clearly an effort. Cat took a deep breath of her own – 'no time to fall apart now,' she told herself.

While her back was turned, Sam did what he could to shore up his injuries. He had nothing to bind his ribs with, but by using his necktie, crudely knotted by his good hand and his teeth, he made a rudimentary sling as support for his damaged hand. It pulled a bit on the nicks in his neck, but that couldn't be helped for now. Elevating his hand eased the throbbing a little, but it still pained him. Everything pained him, relentlessly.

Sam wanted nothing more than to lie down and shut down his mind and his body, to stop feeling the intense pain. He knew he didn't have that luxury. He had to keep going until he could guarantee that Bill and Cat would survive. If he could get Cat out, then his problem would be halved. He looked up - she was still searching.

Suddenly, a woman's hazy form materialized in front of him. Even through yet another black eye, she looked strained.

"Da- Dr. Beckett?" she said, urgently, then, "Oh, God! What's _happened_ to you?"

"Al still in Australia?" Sam whispered, but without rancor.

"He's on his way." Sammi-Jo assured her father, "We've only just got a lock on you. You're only two days behind us. Ziggy says that Bill and Cat get killed, some time in the next two hours. I came as fast as I could to warn you."

"Could be… argh… sooner… than that." Sam took a few hitching breaths. "Is there... any way... to get Cat out? Ask…ah… Zig the... odds."

Sammi-Jo consulted her hand link.

"Not good, I'm afraid," the reply was surprisingly prompt. "There's a window over there, but if she goes out, there's only a 19 percent chance she'll get away safely."

"And her chances... if she... stays?" Sam pressed.

Again the hand link squealed.

"3.7per cent," Sammi-Jo told him simply. "Originally they were found tied up; your getting free must have improved your odds."

'Some improvement!' they both thought ironically.

"Right." Sam swallowed hard. "Keep watch for me, uh…"

"Dr Fuller." Sammi-Jo provided, pushing down all the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Sam needed an efficient observer, not a neurotic daughter.

At this point Cat turned round.

"There's a window up here. It's small, but it isn't locked."

"Out you go." Sam instructed simply.

"No!" Cat ran back to her husband's side. "I won't leave you. You're too weak. He'll kill you."

Sam had been afraid she'd say that.

"Listen," Cat shook her head again, but Sam reached out with his left hand and took hers gently, fingering the rings she wore proudly. "I can... hold him off... gnah…better if he…argh… c-can't use you... as h-hostage." Talking hurt him - oh God, how it hurt him. Damn it all, it hurt simply to breathe. It just plain hurt.

Sam needed to get his message over briefly. "Please, get… help; get back to kids…"

He glanced toward his temporary observer. She hit the buttons again.

"The girls are safe, Dr. Beckett. A neighbor found them wandering in the yard, and seeing the car open and everything they called the police. They are searching for you, they even suspect Ruggiero has you, but they don't know where. They'll never find you in time unless she can raise the alarm. The girls are safe with their brothers being looked after by the Bannermans."

Sam sighed with relief, but even that hurt.

"Cat, get help, _please_ ," Sam pleaded, panting again, "I need... help." He looked at Dr Fuller, hoping she'd be as adept at reading his eyes as Al was. He cast his eyes from side to side.

For a second, she looked puzzled. Then she got the message. Another enquiry, swiftly answered. "She should head that way," Sammi-Jo pointed to the left, "tell her to head for the main road, she'll see it fairly quickly. That'll get the cavalry fastest."

Telling Caitlin that he thought he'd heard traffic sounds earlier Sam relayed the instructions.

"Go!" Sam urged. Cat delayed long enough to kiss her husband again, tenderly on the forehead this time. "I love you." She whispered, "Hang on, Bill, please hang on. Don't do anything rash. I promise I'll get help."

"Love you," Sam breathed, watching hopefully as she dragged her chair over to the window, stood on it and pulled herself out of the narrow escape hatch with an agility that belied her years, and her recent mistreatment.

Without needing to be told, Sammi-Jo had herself centered outside to check the coast was clear. Seeing no sign of the bad guy, she then checked the rest of the house.

Sam was startled by her sudden reappearance.

"I think he's heard her!" she reported with alarm, "He's heading for the front door."

**PQLHQ**

**The Waiting Room**

Bill had recognized David almost at once, which was a relief to both of them. He'd been panicked beyond measure by his lack of memory, and thought the strange place he was in may be a lunatic asylum.

David reassured him that his sanity was intact; which was why he had wanted so badly to talk to his friend. He remembered the many sessions he'd undergone with Sally's expensive analyst after his own sojourn in this very room. He knew Bill would most likely forget everything, but he wanted to show a friendly and familiar face, and try to offset the confusion. He also wanted to try and get Bill to remember something that would help Sam. If Dr Beckett had leaped into Bill, it meant that David's friends were in trouble, and he wanted to make sure they all got through the experience as easily as possible.

With David's help, Bill soon remembered most of his personal details, and that he last remembered arriving home with Cat and the twins. David already knew his home address, and passed it to Ziggy. Almost instantly her search picked up on the missing person report made when the girls were discovered, but from there of course, the trail went cold.

Since Bill had been bounced out by the Leap before the attack by Ruggiero, he knew nothing of it, and had no idea what problem Sam may be there to solve. The sudden nature of his friend's reported disappearance made David all too afraid that he had that answer too. They would not have left their daughters alone willingly, and nobody had any reason to abduct them, save the man who wanted his - David Beckett's - head on a platter. Had Sam still been in real time, David – no longer the coward who had cowered in fear of Ruggiero, but the one who'd decided that living in fear was no life – would have found a way to get a message to the brute, and helped Sam to secure their freedom. But Sam was no longer showing up in the present, for that was where Ziggy had begun her nano-search, so whatever was happening with him had already happened from David's perspective. He was powerless to help. He could still be of comfort to Bill though, so he remained in the Waiting Room until called to say he was needed in Control.

**Los Angeles**

With a grimace, Sam hauled himself to his feet. Long hours of immobility had made him stiff and cramped his muscles. He very nearly collapsed to the floor, but managed to grab hold of the chair for support with his left hand. It was little more than sheer will power that kept him more or less upright.

Once the room had stopped its crazy carousel ride, he pushed his chair over as noisily as he could. He had to make the thug focus on him, not the escaping woman he desperately wanted to save and who was probably his one and only chance of living through this ordeal.

"Help me," he commanded, looking toward the basement staircase, which seemed impossibly far away. He grabbed the still bloodstained knife firmly in his left hand.

Sammi-Jo wished she could hide her Dad somewhere and tackle the monster herself. She had a heap more sympathy for Al's frequent grumpiness, understanding much better how stressful and frustrating observing really was.

Moving slowly and leaving a trail of blood from his leg wound as he limped painfully toward his goal, Sam managed to hide amongst the rubbish under the stairs. He was breathing heavily with the effort, and leant against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Stay with me, D-"

"Sam," he told her. It was quicker. She nodded.

He expected her to give her own first name for the same reason, and was surprised when she did not. Wondering at her reluctance, he gave more thought to the name she _had_ provided. Dr Fuller. Fuller! A strangled gasp escaped him as he realized the significance of the name.

"You're Sammi-Jo! Abigail's little girl!" he breathed, and as he did so he thought, but didn't say 'and mine'. He believed that she didn't know the truth, and this was neither the time nor the place for such a revelation. "I'm so sorry for your loss," as devastated as he had been to learn of Abigail's death, it must have been a hundred times worse for her.

Sammi-Jo couldn't help but blink back a tear, but she kept a tight rein on her emotions. "Thank you, but we have more urgent matters to occupy our minds. He's coming!"

His advantage was slim at best, and soon spent. Once Ruggiero realized that his prisoners were no longer trussed up, Sam would be no match for him in the stand up fight to which he'd earlier challenged him. He had to make every movement count. 'Just like last time' Sam though ruefully, as still more memories of the earlier leap came back to him. He'd thought his adversary was safe and secure behind bars and no further danger to anyone. That had changed. Though he hated to admit it, there was only one outcome that would ensure these good people would ever be safe. Regrettably, Guido would have to meet the same fate as his brother. The only question was whether Sam could achieve that end without meeting his own.

"Here he comes!" The repeated warning focused Sam's mind sharply on the moment.

The huge man came thundering down the stairs, shouting profanities in Italian when he spotted both chairs empty and no sign of either prisoner. His glance went across the dingy room to the open window.

As Guido neared the bottom - and at a signal from Sammi-Jo - Sam stepped out and lunged across the steps, sinking the knife into Ruggiero's right calf. Unlike the thug, Sam didn't make the mistake of leaving the weapon in the wound to be retrieved, but immediately withdrew it, keeping a tight hold of the hilt.

Ruggiero yelped in pain, lost his footing, and plunged down the remainder of the staircase.

Fortune favored Sam, and he hit his head as he fell. However, he was merely stunned, not rendered insensible.

"He's down, but not out," Sammi-Jo advised, waving her father closer. "As unsporting as it may be, you gotta hit him while he's down, Sam."

It felt strange calling him by his Christian name, but she could hardly confuse him by calling him Dad, and "Dr. Beckett" _was_ rather cumbersome for giving emergency advice.

Sam merely nodded, not wasting energy on a reply.

Sam wanted to make it as quick and as painless as possible, for both of them. Guido had other ideas. Shuffling groggily as Sam approached; he swung his arm out and grabbed his opponent by the ankle, yanking it out from under him. Sam went down hard, grunting in pain as his injured hand took the force of the impact, which then reverberated through his broken ribs.

" _Dad_!" shrieked Sammi-Jo in alarm, seeing the pale face turn grayish white. She was so frantic with worry; she didn't even realize her slip. Things looked really bad for her father, and she daren't ask Ziggy for the odds of his survival, lest she despair at the hopelessness of it.

Sam was trying hard to breathe through the pain, but breathing was contributing to the pain considerably. The knife had slipped out of his hand as he fell, which was just as well as it may have impaled him otherwise. Sam had heard Sammi-Jo's cry, but was too preoccupied to process it on a conscious level.

Both men were dazed, but they seemed to become aware of the weapon at the same moment. A scramble ensued. Sam was closer, yet he barely beat his adversary to its retrieval. He struck out with it as soon as it was in his hand, slicing a shallow wound on Ruggiero's palm as he stretched for the blade.

It didn't slow him much, and Sam found himself trying to keep out of range of the monster's arms, which were reaching out to throttle him. Images of a similar tussle in a hospital corridor flashed into Sam's mind. He'd barely survived that time, though he'd made sure his rescuers treated Ruggiero for the effects of the drug he'd been injected with. The very same the Italian had tried to use to kill him.

This time, Sam couldn't afford such sentimentality. This was a fight to the death. Ruggiero assumed it would be his victim's death, having no way of knowing that he wasn't dealing with the scruples of family man Donahue. He was dealing with a man who abhorred the thought of taking another life, and would have taken _any_ other option had there been one, but who recognized that it was ultimately the only way to protect those whom his attacker sought to harm. It was only a small salve to Sam's conscience that he was acting in self-defense.

Operating on sheer adrenalin alone, Sam kept the enemy at bay with jabs of the knife, one or two of which struck home, though not deep enough to cause serious injury.

"Where's you lovely wife?" taunted Ruggiero, hoping that mind games would give him the upper hand. He should be more than a match for a man in Donahue's condition, but his adversary was remarkably resilient.

Sam looked at his daughter, who was standing behind Ruggiero. She took the hint and keyed in the query.

"She's safe, she's found a friendly face and they've contacted the police. Hang in there, Sam. Help is on the way even now."

Sam smiled, though that simple act added to his discomfort, reopening the split on his lip. The taste of salty blood did nothing to ease the nausea he was once again feeling.

Ruggiero was perplexed, but caught the movement in his opponent's eyes, and took the smile to be something conspiratorial. The stupid woman thought she could sneak up and bash him with something to help her husband. Well he was too smart for them both.

Grunting with the effort, Ruggiero pulled himself up and swung round, aiming to grab the wife and put her in a chokehold to bring the husband into submission. He wouldn't really snap her neck, but he'd be convincing enough for her ever-loving partner to wave the white flag.

For a second, he could swear he saw her, though she looked different – younger, slimmer, prettier - and then his hands passed through the image and it faded out like a weak TV signal. Caught off guard, the momentum carried him round and he fell back toward Sam, arms still outstretched and therefore coming down to grab at his injured leg. Though confused, he had the presence of mind to press home his advantage - literally. As he put the squeeze on the wound, Sam arched his back and moaned in pain. Had it been his only injury, Sam could have levered himself into a sitting position, and been within striking distance of his prey. He didn't have the upper body strength for such a move now and lay, more or less at the bully's mercy. He watched to see what would happen next, and prayed he would manage some counter measure.

Ruggiero laughed cruelly, seeing his attacker make a feeble attempt to rise from the floor and fail. He admired how valiantly the man had fought, but the fight seemed to have finally gone out of him. It would take but moments to wrest the knife from his weakening grasp and be done with him.

He rose up on his knees, wincing at the strain on his own leg wound. Leaning across the prostrate figure, he made a grab for the knife.

Sam tried to swing his arm upward, to drive the knife like a stake through the demon's heart, but his swing lacked power. He caught the left arm instead, and that with little impact.

Pain and blood loss were conspiring with his attacker to defeat him, and Sam's reserves of strength, courage and resistance were fast approaching empty.

Before Sam was aware how it had happened, Ruggiero had forced the stiletto out of his hand, and was now kneeling astride the prone figure raising it over his head, preparing to plunge it down and finish his victim off once and for all.

"Don't give up, Dad, you gotta keep fighting!" encouraged Sammi-Jo. It didn't matter any more, the pretense, "Please Daddy, I love you, you _have_ to live."

In a last ditch attempt to avoid what was looking more and more inevitable, Sam brought his right leg up to strike at Ruggiero's most vulnerable area.

The blow never landed.

In the same instant, a bright flash and a loud bang announced the arrival of the cavalry down the stairs behind Sam, The bullet found its target in Ruggiero's heart, and he slumped on top of his victim. The knife embedded itself in the floor centimeters from Sam's ear. Déjà vu again, thought Sam wearily, moaning weakly as the huge dead weight landed on his damaged hand and damaged ribs, knocking a feeble breath from him.

Footsteps rushed to his assistance.

"Arhhhhhh," the removal of the burden hurt almost as much as its arrival.

"Get the paramedics in here!" one of the policemen called urgently. Sam's torn shirt was thoroughly stained with blood, and the new arrivals were by no means sure if it all belonged to the aggressor.

"Oh, God, I h-hurt so…argh… so bad," Sam's voice was barely audible. Sammi-Jo was crouched close, her eyes moist. "I think… I'd _really_ like… to leap n-now," Sam's eyes pleaded that it would be so.

**The Waiting Room**

The orb in the ceiling flickered.

Both David and his friend Bill instinctively looked up.

"What is it, Ziggy?" asked the chief programmer. It was against protocol to discuss Project matters in the hearing of the leapee, but David had already broken the rules just by coming in. He figured if Bill was going to forget anyway, then what did it matter?

"Good news, CP."

Bill gave him a quizzical look at the unusual appellation, but David just shrugged and grinned, "Long story!"

"Dr. Beckett has successfully completed the leap. Guido Ruggiero is dead. Neither you nor the Donahue family has anything more to fear. The children are unharmed, and Mrs. Donahue has only minor bruising. They are all going to be fine. I predict that your friend should be resuming his life at any moment."

"I guess its time to say goodbye." David clasped Bill's hand and shook it warmly. "If you remember anything at all, tell Caitlin and the kids that I said hi!"

"If its safe now, why don't you come back with me?" Bill wanted to know.

"It isn't as simple as that," David told him. "Maybe we could keep in touch by email or something though?"

David looked up at the orb again, as if asking Ziggy for permission to resume communications.

"Your current location must still remain undisclosed," she began.

"Of course," David allowed. He was part of a top-secret project. He got that. "I could bounce them so the IP address is untraceable, though, couldn't I?"

Ziggy knew between them such measures could be made foolproof.

"Indeed."

"You sure I can't talk you into coming home?" Bill knew that Cat would love to see their friend again, as would David's godson.

"Maybe I'll stop by when I'm on leave," David offered, "but for right now, I'm where I need to be."

**The leap**

Sammi-Jo looked at the hand link. "Ziggy doesn't know why you haven't leaped yet. You changed history; Cat and Bill are both alive. Hang in there, stay with me."

She seemed to be using that phrase a lot. She'd have given anything to be able to hold him, even to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. No wonder Al had been so determined to get to Australia. She just prayed that it wouldn't prove to be last the Admiral saw of his friend.

Sam was barely aware of the medics as they came in and started to assess his condition, securing him so that he could be moved without sustaining further injury.

Cat came in close on their heels. She wanted to scoop her husband up in her arms and smother him in kisses, but she held back and let the experts do their work. She talked to him though, soothingly, reassuringly, much as Sammi-Jo was doing unseen next to her.

Sam heard them both, and was comforted. Though his face was bruised and swollen from the prolonged beatings, he managed a hint of a smile.

"Lie still, don't try to talk," both women and the paramedics all gave him the same advice. He accepted the wisdom of the counsel, but there was something he needed to say. He may never get another chance.

He reached out feebly for Cat's hand, but it was to Sammi-Jo he looked as he haltingly whispered the words she longed to hear, "I… love… you, I'll... always... l-love... you".

Now that he was no longer fighting for his life, the adrenalin rush ceased, and his body systems crashed. Sam passed out, and as he did so, he leaped…

...The basement room dissolved in a shimmer of blue-white haze, and Sammi-Jo found herself crouching on the floor of the barren Imaging chamber. For a few moments, she remained there, unmoving, staring at the spot on the floor where her father had lain.

He had leapt.

He had leapt and that meant he was alive.

He was lost in time again, but at least he was alive.

Someday, he would make it home, and they would be a proper family.

She rose to her feet, but as yet stayed where she was. She felt that while she remained in the Imaging chamber, she was still somehow close to him. She could still see his face in her mind's eye. Battered and bruised and contorted by pain as it had been, it was a wonderful sight to her. Her father – her real father.

He knew who she was, he acknowledged her – and more than that – he loved her. He'd said so. He may have been holding Mrs. Donahue's hand, but it had been _her_ eyes he'd looked into. The message was hers; she knew it was. Even if he only remembered for that one brief moment, he'd declared his love for his daughter. Her. Sammi-Jo Fuller.

Suddenly, it felt as if the world might possibly be all right again one day.

With renewed enthusiasm, Sammi-Jo strode out of the Imaging chamber with her head held high and a smile upon her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's notes  
> I think I have a record number of "thank-yous" for this one, so forgive me if this reads like an Oscar acceptance speech! (Or more properly a 'Gushie' in this case?)  
> First and foremost I must always thank everyone associated with Bellisarius Productions, especially Don and Deborah, Scott and Dean, without whom I wouldn't be writing these stories, desperate to keep their vision alive.  
> In respect of this particular story, my thanks go to all my dear friends who have jammed with me, listen to me moaning and babbling about things I couldn't get my head around, supported me through various crises of confidence and helped me to work out the details.  
> I hesitate to name individuals, for fear I miss someone out inadvertently. If I do, I humbly apologize; you all know who you are and how bad I am with names.  
> I must however mention the following:  
> Wendy, my first bona-fide, honest to goodness fan, who liked my work before she knew me, and who allowed me to capitalize on her own unfortunate circumstances to make Sam's situation more accurately portrayed, as well as inspiring certain major events in the story.  
> Louella, a student at the school where I worked, and long term ME sufferer, for help, inspiration and insider knowledge.  
> ‘Al the Observer’ who filled me in on all things Alabama, among other things.  
> Hayden the Naggin' Dragon, who similarly helped me with the Australian facts - as did Trudy, 'feathers' and especially Bexter, whose timely intervention saved me from a major geographical faux pas.  
> Julie, for her local knowledge of Broken Hill and her medical expertise.  
> Bluedana, whose judicious advice saved me from several glaring legal inaccuracies.  
> Damon, Doug, Dermot and Eleiece for helping me to try and get Al and Sam together across the date line, and understanding when I ultimately didn't make it happen quite as originally planned.  
> MJ, for jamming with me and helping me to see the wood through the trees!  
> Jennie: as ever a fabulous person to bounce ideas off.  
> HBG – who stepped into the breach and beta'd for me when real life hijacked my regulars (no blame to them.) Any errors that remain are solely my own.  
> My thanks to Andrew Horan of the Bunbury Dolphin Discovery centre,  
> for permission to use the location, and for helping to keep the story authentic.  
> Kerry Packer sadly passed away a few months before my story was finished, but I hope I have honored his memory by making him the kiss with history. The famous incident when he tipped a waitress $70,000Au dollars to pay her mortgage so she could quit work and spend time with her kids inspired me to believe that he would have taken an interest in Allie's situation and done what he could to help.  
> Information gathering was also facilitated by:  
> wikipedia – a wealth of information!  
> Good old Google searches.  
> The lovely ladies at First Choice Travel in Kempston  
> A fascinating Discovery channel documentary on people who had survived being struck by lightening  
> Coping with Chronic Fatigue by Trudie Chalder ISBN 0-85969-685-5  
> A Helping Hand through M.E. (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome)  
> A self help guide for sufferers and their Families by Janet Hurrell  
> ISBN 0-572-02438-X (first published 1998)  
> Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (a natural way to treat M.E.) by Professor Basant K. Puri ISBN 1-905140-00-2  
> My heartfelt thanks to all!  
> And finally, my thanks to you - the readers - for taking an interest in my work.  
> Soon to be posted here are the two stories I entered in the Leap Back Convention fanfic competition. Both were shortlisted to the final ten, and ultimately ended up being awarded 3rd and 6th places.  
> Watch out for the next story in line, which may be some time in coming but is a Work in Progress.  
> I started to feel that my stories were getting a bit 'samey' so I've given myself a challenge to branch out in a new direction.  
> My next story will be a crossover with another show.  
> I'll say no more for now, lest it spoil the opening of the story...


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